“Stephen,” he begged, “are you sure you’re feeling strong enough? Won’t some other night—” The old man interrupted him querulously.
“No, now! I want it over,” he commanded. “Who knows,” he complained, “how soon it may be before—”
The sight of Mannie entering the room with Vance caused him to interrupt himself abruptly. He greeted the showman with a curt nod.
“And who is this?” he demanded. Mannie, to whom a living millionaire was much more of a disturbing spectacle than the ghost of Alexander the Great, retreated hastily behind Vance.
“He is my assistant,” Vance explained. “He furnishes the music.” He pushed Mannie toward the organ.
“Music!” growled Hallowell. “Must there be music?”
“It is indispensable,” protested Vance. “Music, sir, is one of the strongest psychic influences. It—”
“Nonsense!” cried Hallowell.
“Tricks,” he muttered, “tricks!”
Vance shrugged his shoulders, and smiled in deprecation. “I am sorry to find you in a skeptical mood, Mr. Hallowell,” he murmured reprovingly “It will hardly help to produce good results. Allow me,” he begged, “to present two true believers.”