The mournful tenor of the Mystic mingled with the high C of his primordial Mate.
“Yes, just that”—burst forth the druggist savagely. “When I discovered that you were not only dead to the proprieties and deaf to appeals, but that you were impervious to boot-jacks and bullets, I set to thinking as to the best manner of dealing with the situation. When I saw you chipper as a lark when impaled on a carving knife, I realized the insufficiency of brute force. It was then that I turned to science and planned for this my long sought and well earned R-E-V-E-N-G-E.”
This last word came out in a long hissing whisper, the which is so effective upon the stage.
The Seer was now staring at the druggist in open faced dismay. Imogene was whimpering softly.
“To this end,” continued Mr. Vanderhook, “I practically gave up my business. I constructed this laboratory. I gave up Mrs. V.’s society. I permitted you to entertain her while I buried myself to work out my revenge. During the past five months I’ve acquainted myself with all the great authorities on chemistry, electricity, alchemy, astrology, theosophy, and occultism generally. I’ve studied Darwin and Haeckel and Huxley and Tyndall. I’ve familiarized myself with all of the facts of all of the sciences. I’ve saturated myself with the theories of all the philosophers, prophets and cranks. I’ve studied the body from monkey to man. I’ve chased the elusive soul down through the unintelligible symbolism of Buddha, on down to the ultimate atom of Huxley—and I’ve made a Great Discovery. Your school of mysticism’s a fake. I’ve smashed your occultism to smithereens, and I can bear witness to the wisdom of that eminent materialist who said,—‘I have tried the soul in the crucible and found it Protoplasm.’”
“You—you—deny the soul?” broke out the Mystic in astonishment.
“Quite the contrary,” said Mr. Vanderhook. “I’m convinced that there is a soul, or more scientifically speaking, an astral man. But this astral man is nothing but a duplicate of the physical man, consisting of highly attenuated substance. This soul man, or astral man, under certain conditions, can separate himself from the coarser body and cut up just such didos as you have. But”—and Bill’s voice assumed the patronizing intonation of the pedagogue—“now the fact is, confidentially, this astral man is nothing but a mere emanation of the physical, and is governed—that is, ultimately—by the same physical laws. Now, for instance, you talk of a soul, and a spirit, because you don’t know any better. In reality these phenomena of the astral plane are only material phenomena of a higher grade or quality than we can ordinarily get at through our physical senses. But, and again,”—and Bill Vanderhook sniffed disdainfully—“you’re no more immortal (because you can’t be seen by everybody) than a wiggle-tail is. Now we can’t see nor feel the millions of baby tadpoles nor wigglers in water. But that ain’t saying they’re spirits, nor that they have immortal souls. Now, Mr. Mystic, a soul or an astral man is just as natural as flesh and bone. He is in no sense independent of the finer physical forces, and he is subject to natural law just as much as if he were going around wearing his body.”
“You have certainly studied to some purpose,” admitted Mr. Leffingwell.
“More than this,” continued the materialist enthusiastically, “I have studied and completely mastered this principle of soul mating.”