With a wave of the hand he beckoned forward a stout, gray-haired woman with bulging, near-sighted eyes that rolled meaninglessly behind heavy gold spectacles.
“Mrs. Marsh of Lynn, Massachusetts,” proclaimed Vance, “of whom you have heard. Mrs. Marsh,” he added, “is probably the first medium in America. The results she has obtained are quite wonderful. She alone foretold the San Francisco earthquake, and the run on the Long Acre Square Bank.”
“I am glad to know you,” said Mr. Hallowell. “Pardon my not rising.”
The old lady curtsied obsequiously.
“Oh, certainly, Mr. Hallowell,” she protested. “Mr. Hallowell,” she went on, rolling the name delightedly on her tongue, “I need not tell you how greatly we spiritualists rejoice over your joining the ranks of the believers.”
Hallowell nodded. He was not altogether unimpressed. “Thanks,” he commented dryly. “But I am not quite there yet, madam.”
“We hope,” said Vance sententiously, “to convince Mr. Hallowell tonight.”
“And I am sure, Mr. Hallowell,” cried the old lady, “if any one can do it, little Miss Vera can. Hers is a wonderful gift, sir, a wonderful gift!”
“I am glad to hear you say so,” returned Hallowell.
He nodded to her in dismissal, and turned to the next visitor. “And this gentleman?” he asked.