The Heart Line 13

The Heart Line 13

"Yes, Granthope knows all about that," from the Madam.

 

"Her name is Clytie," said Granthope. "Twenty-seven."

 

"Is she a looker?" asked Vixley.

 

Granthope turned to him and gave him a patronizing glance. "_You_

wouldn’t think so, Professor. She’s hardly your style. But she’s good

enough for me!" He languidly flipped the ash from his cigarette and

took his pose again.

 

Lulu went on: "I think he had a love affair before he was married, but I

couldn’t quite get it. I didn’t dare to fish very much. And that’s

about all I got."

 

"That’s plenty, Lulu. You can go now. Here’s a dollar for you and much

obliged for passing him up."

 

"Oh, thank you," said Lulu. "I’m afraid it ain’t worth that much. He

gave me a dollar himself, though I don’t charge but four bits, usually."

 

"Lord, what a fool!" said Vixley, watching her go out. "That girl won’t

ever get nowhere, she’s too innocent. She knows no more about real life

than a boiled egg."

 

"She’s all right for me, though," Madam Spoll replied. "That’s just the

kind I need in my business. She fools ’em every time. They ain’t

nothing like a good blusher for a stool-pigeon, you take my word for it.

Lulu’s all right in her place." She turned to wash her hands at a bowl

in the corner.

 

"Well," said Vixley, crossing his legs, "are you coming in with us,

Frank?"

 

"It looks pretty good to me, so far. But it depends. What have you got

about Payson, anyway?" Granthope’s tone was languid.

 

Madam Spoll winked at Vixley, as she wiped her hands behind the

palmist’s back.

 

"Why," Vixley replied, "Payson’s in wool and is director of a bank,

besides. He’s a square-head with a high forehead, and them are easy.

Gertie, here, can get him into a private sittin’, and when she does, you

leave him to her—she’ll find a way all right. She don’t do no lumpy

work, Gertie don’t, you know that, all right! When she passes him along

to me, I’ll manage him like the way we worked Bennett with the real

estate. I’d like another chance as good as him."

 

"You just wait," said Madam Spoll. "I got a hunch that this Payson is

going to be pretty good pie; and we got a good strong combination,

Frank, if you want to do your share."

 

"It’s a pity Spoll ain’t got some of Gertie’s gumption," said Vixley,

smiling with approval at his partner.

 

"Don’t you make no mistake about Spoll—he’s done some good work on

Payson already." The Madam was adjusting her waist before the glass and

coquetting with her hair. "The trouble with you, Vixley, is that you

ain’t got no executive ability—I’m going to organize this game myself.

I can see a way to use Spoll and Ringa, and Flora, too. We want to go

into this thing big. Payson’s a keener bird than Bennett was, but

they’s more in him."

 

"So Spoll has begun, has he?" Granthope asked.

 

"Yes. He located the Paysons over on North Beach."

 

"I know that much already. The mother’s dead. Mr. and Miss Payson have

traveled abroad. What else do you know about her?"

 

"Why, it seems she’s the sole heir. Good news for you, eh? High

society, too—Flower Mission, Kitchen Garden, Friday Cotillions,

Burlingame, everything. She could help you, Frank, if you got on the

right side of her."

 

Here Mr. Spoll tiptoed in, bowed to Granthope, and said:

 

"Eight o’clock, Gertie."

 

Madam Spoll arose cumbrously, took a last peep in the mirror of the

folding bed and turned into the hall, saying, "You take my advice,

Frank. We depend upon you. See what you can do with the girl." She

paused to bend a keen glance upon him. "What did you do with her,

anyway?"

 

"Why, I did happen on something," he answered. "Do you remember Madam

Grant, who used to live down on Fifth Street, twenty-odd years ago?"

 

Madam Spoll came back into the room eagerly.

 

"The crazy woman who lived so queer and yet had lots of money? Yes!

She did clairvoyance, didn’t she? I remember. She had a kid with her,

too. Let’s see—he ran away with the money, didn’t he? And nobody ever

knew what become of him. What about her?"

 

There was a duel of astute glances between them. Granthope had his own

reasons for not wanting to say too much. He guarded his secret

carefully, as he had guarded it from her for years.

 

"Miss Payson used to go down to see Madam Grant with her mother, when

she was a little girl."

 

"No! _did_ she, though? With her mother? That’s queer! Hold on,

Vixley. What did Lulu say about a love affair before Payson was

married? Do you get that? Here’s his wife visiting Madam Grant; you

remember her, don’t you? There’s something in that I believe we got a

good starter already."

 

Spoll appeared again, anxiously beckoning, and she went with him down

the hall.

 

Vixley took up the scent. "Say, Frank," he asked, "how did you happen

to get on to that, anyway? That was slick work."

 

Granthope turned to him and replied patronizingly, "Oh, I ought to know

something about women by this time. I got her to talking."

 

Vixley frowned, intent in thought, stroking his scant, pointed beard and

biting his mustache; then he slapped his knee with his claw-like hand.

"Say, you got a grand chance there," he exclaimed. "See here, you can

get in with the swells and be in a position to help out lots. It’s the

chance of a lifetime, and we’ll make it worth your while."

 

"How?" Granthope inquired contemptuously.

 

"By a fair exchange of information. You put us wise, and we’ll put you

wise. I’ll trust you to find ways of using what help we give you." He

cackled.

 

"Yes—you can trust me. I think I might have some fun out of it. I

don’t mind helping you out, but all I need myself is a little

imagination, some common-sense and a frock coat."

 

Vixley looked at him admiringly. "I wish’t I had your chance, Frank;

that’s what I do. Say, you just light ’em and throw ’em away, don’t

you! I s’pose if I had your looks I could do it myself."

 

Granthope looked him over calmly. "There’s no knowing what a bath and a

manicure and a suit of clothes would do for you, Professor."

 

"You can’t make brains out o’ soap," retorted the medium.

 

"And you can’t make money out of dirt.

 

"We’ll see who has the money six months from now."

 

"It’s a fair enough bargain. I take the girl, you take the money. I’m

satisfied." Granthope arose and yawned. "Oh," he added, "did you know

Payson had a partner named Riley? He was drowned in seventy-seven."

 

"That’s funny. Queer how things come our way! Mrs. Riley is here in the

front room with a test. She was tried for the murder of one of her

husbands. Gert’s goin’ to shoot her up with it to-night. You better go

in and see the fun. She’ll give it to her good."

 

"I think I will," said the palmist.

 

He left Vixley plunged in thought, and walked out.

 

Turning into the audience-room he sat down on a chair in the rear. The

place was almost filled. His eyes scanned the assembly carefully,

roving from one spectator to another. On a side seat near him, a party

of four, young girls and men, sat giggling and chewing gum. The rest of

the company showed a placid vacancy of __EXPRESSION__ or lukewarm

expectancy.

 

Madam Spoll at the organ and her husband with his violin, had,

meanwhile, been playing a dreary piece of music, "to induce the proper

conditions," as she had announced from the platform. They stopped,

retarding a minor chord, and the medium went to the table and began to

handle the tests, rearranging them, putting some aside, bringing others

forward, in an abstracted manner. Then, looking up with a

self-satisfied smile, she spoke:

 

"I want to say something to the new-comers and skeptics here to-night in

explanation of these tests. Them who have thoroughly investigated the

subject and are familiar with every phase of mediumship, understand, of

course, that these objects are placed here merely to attract magnetism

to the sitter and induce the proper conditions, so that your spirit

friends will be able to communicate with you. This phase of mediumship

is called psychometry, but if I’d stop to explain just what that means,

I wouldn’t have time to give any readings. Now, it won’t be possible to

get any messages unless you come here in the proper mood to receive

them. You must send out your best thought and do all you can to assist,

or else my guides won’t be able to establish communication on the spirit

plane. If you merely come here only to laugh and to make a scoff of the

proceedings, I’ll have to ask you to leave before I begin, for they’s

many here to-night who are honestly in search of the truth, seeking to

communicate with the dear, loved ones beyond on the other side."

 

She passed her hand across her eyes, sighed, and fingered her chin

nervously. She poked the articles on the table again.

 

"As I come on to this platform, I see an old man over there, in that

direction, what you might call a middle-aged man, perhaps, of a medium

height, and whiskers, like. I feel a condition of going on a journey,

you might say, somewhere east of here, though maybe not very far, and I get the name John. The light goes over in your direction, lady, that one with the red hat. Yes, you. Would that be your father, possibly?"