Three loud raps answered, and she smiled. He says, "All right. He understands."
"Seems to me he's mighty touchy for one on the heavenly plane," Victor retorted, maliciously. "Seems to me an all-seeing spirit ought to get my point of view."
A vigorous tapping on the table responded to this speech.
"What's that?" asked Victor.
"That is your father saying yes, he does get your point of view."
Victor had a feeling that his mother was receding from him as he faced her across the table. She became the professional medium in her manner and tone. He, too, changed. He hardened, assuming the attitude of the scientific observer—hostile and derisive. His keen hazel-gray eyes grew penetrating and his lips curled in scorn. His tone hurt her, but she persisted in her sitting, and at last the slate began to tremble throughout all its parts, and a grating sound like slow writing with a pencil went on beneath it. Victor could plainly follow the dotting of the i's and the crossing of the t's, till at the end a tapping indicated that it was finished.
"You may take the slate, Victor," said Mrs. Ollnee.
He took it from the table and opened it. On one side, in bold script—a bit old-fashioned—stood these words: "Stay where you are. Let the boy adventure into the city. Await results. I will be near. FATHER."
Victor, astounded, mystified, confronted his mother with wide eyes. "Now, what does that mean?"
"It means that I am to keep this house just as it is and you are to seek work in the city. Is that right, Paul?"