“Can you prove that, other than by your own statement?”
“So you won’t believe anything I say! Well, listen, anyway. We were talking recently at the Club about spiritualism,—”
“Oh, don’t harp on that! That’s Kim’s mother’s theory,—and of all ridiculous nonsense! Why,—”
“Now, wait a minute. This was only two nights before his bachelor dinner. We were discussing the foolishness of séances, and talking about the people who claim to have communication with their relatives who were killed in the war,—and all that rot,—when Kim said, ‘There may be something in it after all.’
“We laughed at him, and asked him if he had any experiences worth telling. And he said he’d had one the night before.”
“I don’t want to hear it. Either you’re deceiving me, or he was hoaxing you. Kim hates everything of the sort,—his mother will tell you that.”
“It isn’t a question of his hating it,—he did,—but he told us a tale which I, for one, refuse to doubt. It bore evidence of its truth on its very face.”
“What was it?” Elsie became interested in spite of herself.
“It seems Kim has had a number of queer experiences happen to him while he slept. For instance, clothing that he left on one chair when he went to bed he found in the morning on another chair.”
“Pooh, he might have forgotten which chair he left the things on!”