"He's a wonderful man, Mr. Harrison," the other said, enthusiastically. "He must be fifty-five at least, maybe more, but he's so alert and quick-witted, and so full of his subject, that he seems a much younger man."
"And he seems happy?"
"Happy! I should say so! Perfectly reconciled to his son's death, because of these communications he gets from him! I say, Mr. Harrison, I can't stand for it! It gets me to see how that man is gulled, and he such a clear-headed, sane sort! Had proofs, too—all sorts of things. Do you believe it, Mr. Harrison? Do you believe that the spirit of Mr. Crane's dead son talks to him through a medium?"
"I do not," said Peter Crane, endeavoring not to speak too emphatically. "I didn't want you to get that interview in the interests of Spiritism at all, but to tell me of the condition, mentally and physically, of Mr. Crane."
"Yes, I know. Well, the old guy is O.K. physically, fit as a fiddle. And sound mentally, you bet, except that he's nutty on the supernatural. Why, he showed me the tobacco pouch—you know he tells about that in his book——"
Peter nodded.
"Showed me, too, a handkerchief of his dead son's——"
"That's not so remarkable."
"Yes, it is; 'cause it's one of a set that the chap took away with him, embroidered by his best girl, I believe."
Peter started. One of those handkerchiefs Carly gave him! Where in the world could that fool medium have got hold of that?