A medium! Madame Parlato! And she "got in touch" with him! She succeeded in getting messages from him—and materializations!
Peter's chicory blue eyes nearly popped out of his head when he read of the "materialization" of his tobacco pouch.
"Jolly glad I know where it is," he thought; "I've missed the thing, but how did it waft itself to a professional medium! Bah! the stuff makes me sick!
"But Dad wrote it! Dad—my father! And mother's in the game! Got to read the book all over again."
And again he delved into the volume, seeming unable to take in the appalling fact of what had been done.
"They believe it!" he said at last, reaching the final page for the third time; "they believe it from the bottom of their blessed souls!
"Who is that medium person? Where'd she get the dope to fool the old folks? Let me at her! I'll give her what for! Messages to mother from her departed son! 'Do not grieve for me,' 'I am happy over here,' Oh, for the love o' Mike! what am I going to do first?"
Followed a long time of thought. At first, chaotic, wondering, uncertain, then focussing and crystallizing into two definite ideas.
One, the astonishing but undeniable fact of his father's belief and sincerity, the other, what would happen if that belief and sincerity were suddenly stultified.
"Good Lord!" he summed up, "when I appear on the scene that medium will get the jolt of her sweet young life— I assume she's young still, and Dad——