“U T-H-I-N-K U A-R-E C-L-E-V-E-R.”
Slim Jim was lounging about the room. He was Doc.’s prize patient and was at that time afflicted with the enormous appetite that follows a long bout of dysentery and fever.
“Poses as a thought-reader, does he?” he said. “Here! What am I thinking about?”
“Your dinner,” said the Spook, and everybody laughed.
And so on. Mistakes were made, of course, and the glass frequently went to “next-door” letters, but not more so than on ordinary occasions. It became generally accepted by the company that whether the mediums had their eyes bandaged or not, and whether the position of the board was altered or not, it made no difference.
Once, when the board was moved, my questing thumb failed to locate the nicks! I was in a quandary, for I dared not feel openly for the guiding marks. But I got my position in another way. The glass began to bang away at one spot.
“Right,” said Matthews. “Get on.”
Still the glass banged away at the same letter.
“All right, I’ve got that one,” Alec repeated.
But the glass paid no attention. It continued the monotonous tapping.