Presently the medium’s husband, who acted, so to speak, as ringmaster, desired to know whether there was yet another present desirous of having speech with some dear departed one. If so, Madame would undertake to establish liaison.
This was the cue for the yokel. He mustered courage to stutter an embarrassed plea. He wished to hear from the shade of his late father.
After a proper wait there were sounds in the cabinet and through the darkness there spoke the tones of one of seeming hoary age.
“Is that you, my son?” asked the voice.
“Yes, paw, this here is me,” answered the youth.
“Was there any questions you wished to ast me concernin’ my present state?” continued the accommodating voice.
The boy thought a moment. Then:
“Where air you, Paw?” he inquired with simple directness.
“Heaven, my son.”
“Air you an angel, Paw?”