The other women were frozen with horror. "Don't let it touch me," pleaded Miss Brush.
And Mrs. Quigg, much shaken, called out: "Frank Howard, are you doing this?"
He was highly indignant. "Certainly not. Are you not holding one hand and Miss Brush the other? I am in-no-cent; I swear it!"
I commented on their dialogue severely. "See how you all treat an event that is wonderful enough to convulse the National Academy of Science. I do not believe the psychic's hands have moved an inch, and yet, unless some one of you is false to his trust, the miraculous has happened—Are you there, 'Wilbur?'" I queried of the mystic presence.
The cone swung toward me, and "Wilbur" answered: "I am, old horse."
"Well, Wilbur, there are two bigoted scientific people here to-night, and I want you to put them to everlasting rout."
"I'll do it, don't you worry," replied the voice, and the cone dropped with a bang on the table, again making everybody jump.
"That brought the goose-flesh!" remarked "Wilbur," with humorous satisfaction.
I took a malicious delight in the mystification of my fellows. "Go down and shake up young Howard at the foot of the table," I suggested. "He is a little in the conjuring line himself."
Almost instantly Howard cried out: "The blooming thing is touching me on the ear!"