To this Morton took exception. "I don't see that. There has never been a religion too gross, too fallacious, to fail of followers. Remember the sacred bull of Egypt and the snake-dance of the Hopi. The whole theory, as Spencer says, is a survival of a more primitive life and religion."
Finding himself alone with Weissmann during the afternoon, he said, carelessly:
"If you were called upon to prove the falsity or demonstrate the truth of the spiritualistic faith—how would you set to work?"
Weissmann was a delicious picture as he stood facing his young colleague. He was dressed to go home, and was topped by a low-crowned, broad-brimmed, black hat, set rather far back on his head, and floating like a shallop on the curling wave of his grizzled hair. His eyebrows, gray, with two black tufts near the nose, resembled the antennæ of a moth. His loose coat, his baggy trousers, and a huge umbrella finished the picture. He was a veritable German professor—a figure worthy of Die Fliegende Blätter.
"I can't say exactly," he replied, thoughtfully. "In general I would bring to bear as many senses as possible. I would see, I would hear, I would touch. I would make electricity my watch-dog. I would make matter my trap."
"But how?"
"That, circumstances would determine. My plan would develop to fit the cases. I would begin with the simplest of the phenomena."
"Do you know Meyers's book?"
"Bah! No."
"And yet they say it is a careful and scientific study."