The Heart Line 63

The Heart Line 63

"Well, if you don’t mind, I will. It’s a bad habit, I’m told, but it

sorts o’ helps me when I’m nervous."

 

Mr. Payson placed the tips of his fingers together, palm to palm, and

gestured with them. "Now, Professor Vixley, seeing that I know nothing

about you, would you mind letting me see what you can do first in the

way of a test, before we go to the main object of my visit?"

 

"Why, certainly, though I can’t promise to do anything conclusive the

first time. I want you to feel at liberty to try me in any way you

wish."

 

"Well, I’ve got three questions I’d like to have you answer. I happen

to know that you couldn’t possibly know what they are. If you can

answer them, I’ll be satisfied that you can help me."

 

"I’ll try," said Vixley modestly. "It all depends upon my guides, and

we can’t tell till we begin." He arose, walked to the mantel and

brought back a small pad of paper.

 

"Here’s what I generally use. This paper is magnetized in order to make

it easier. Examine it all you please—you won’t find no carbon transfer

paper nor nothin’ like that."

 

"Why can’t I use my own paper?"

 

"I ain’t got no more idea than you have," the medium confessed candidly.

"Why can’t a photographer take a picture on common glass? I don’t know.

I ain’t a photographer. All I do know is, that we can get results from

this paper that my control has magnetized, when we can’t from yours.

The spirits may be able to explain it—I can’t. Now you write down the

name of your control and your three questions, one on each piece and

fold it over twice. Then I’ll pull down the shades and see what I can

do."

 

Mr. Payson brought his hand down on the table querulously. "That’s

another thing I don’t like," he said. "Why can’t spirits work in the

light as well as in the dark, I’d like to know? It looks suspicious to

me."

 

Vixley took the cigar from his teeth and sat down patiently before his

dupe. He rapped with his forefinger upon the table. "See here, it’s

this way, Mr. Payson; every science has its own condition that has got

to be fulfilled before any experiment can be a success, hasn’t it? You

can’t go against nature. If you want an electric light or telephone, you

have to run wires, don’t you? Why? I don’t know—I’m not an

electrician. If you want to develop a photograph, you have to do it in

the dark. Why? I don’t know—go ask a photographer. If you want to

make a seed grow, you put it down into the dirt and water it. Why? I

don’t know. Nobody knows. It’s one o’ the mysteries o’ life. In the

same way, if you want to get results in spiritualism, you have to submit

to the conditions that are imposed by my guide. Why? I don’t know.

And what’s more, I don’t care. If I can get the results, it makes no

difference to me how they come. All I do know is that fifty years’

experience has shown us mediums the proper conditions necessary for the

physical manifestation of phenomena. Full daylight is all right for

psychic influences, but it don’t do for slate-writin’. The question is

whether you want to accept the conditions I give you, or do you expect

the spirits to work in a way that’s impossible?"

 

Mr. Payson, overcome with this profound logic, submitted without further

protest to having the shades drawn down. The Professor reseated himself

and waited till the three slips were written and folded according to

direction. In his own lap were three blank slips folded in exactly the

same manner.

 

Vixley now pressed his brow and smoothed it with both hands. "Some

fakirs will palm a blank slip and exchange it for your written one, but

you see I ain’t got nothin’ in my hands," he said, showing them empty.

Even as he spoke he dropped his hands into his lap, and secreted one of

his folded slips in his palm. Then he reached for one of Payson’s

written questions and seemed to place it on the old man’s forehead, but

quick as was the motion, he had made the substitution.

 

"You hold this paper there while I go and get the slates. And keep your

mind on the question as hard as you can."

 

He returned in a moment, having glanced meanwhile at Mr. Payson’s first

question, while he was outside, bringing back a dozen or more slates

which he put on the book-shelf. He took off the top one and handed it

to Mr. Payson.

 

"Just look at it, examine it all you want to, and then take this wet

towel, wash it off clean and dry it with the other end, please."

 

As the old man did so, the Professor went to the pile and took down the

next slate. This was the first one which Flora had read, the writing

being now concealed by the thin slab which fitted neatly into the frame.

As Mr. Payson handed back the first slate, Professor Vixley, looking him

intently in the eye, said:

 

"Now, can you tell me about how many years ago it was that your control

passed out? Was it five years, twenty, or how long?"

 

The question was accurately timed so as to be put just as Mr. Payson

extended his hand. Vixley’s eyes held the old man’s in a direct gaze.

During this psychological moment while his victim was intently trying to

answer the question, the Professor, with a facile movement, put the two

slates together and handed back the same one that had been washed.

 

"I should say it would be nearly thirty years—twenty-seven."

 

"All right," said Vixley. "Now, take this slate and wash it off like

you did the other." The old man did so without noticing that it was the

same one he had had before.

 

Vixley took back the slate when he had finished, and, with a piece of

chalk, drew diagonal lines from corner to corner upon each of the faces

of both slates.

 

"That will show you that the writin’ hasn’t been prepared beforehand,

for you’ll see that the pencil will write through the chalk, showin’

it’s been done after I made these lines."

 

As he held the two slates together in his hand, the false sheet from the

upper one fell into the frame of the lower. He laid the two upon the

table and took off the top one. The lower surface upon which the

writing was now exposed he took care to hold so that it could not be

seen. Next, he took the slip of paper which Mr. Payson had been

holding, substituted for it with a deft motion the written question

which he had previously palmed, and, throwing the blank into his lap,

dropped the real one, with a small fragment of slate-pencil, upon the

slate. He put the written slate on top of the other, writing down, then

asked the old man to hold it in position, laying his own fingers upon it

as well. A faint scratching was heard. It was too dark for the old man

to notice the slight motions of Vixley’s finger-nail upon the surface.

After a moment he removed the top slate and showed the writing, then,

unfolded the slip.

 

Mr. Payson looked at the inscription with curiosity and surprise.

"Marvelous!" he exclaimed. "Why, it’s incredible. I didn’t know it

could be done as simply as that. Why, all three of my questions are

answered and they haven’t left my possession."

 

"You seem to have a very strong control. Are the answers correct?"

 

"I’ll soon find out," said Mr. Payson, "if you’ll raise the shades while

I look at this book." He cut the strings of a package he had brought

into the room, showed his copy of the _Astrology of the New Testament_

and turned to page one hundred.

 

"Here it is, ’Chapter IX.’ It’s most extraordinary, indeed! Now for

the number of my watch. Do you know, I didn’t even know these answers

myself. That would tend to prove it’s not mere telepathy, wouldn’t it?"

 

He took out his watch and opened the back covers. Upon the frame were

engraved the figures "801,101."

 

"That’s correct, too. Now for the last one—have you a telephone?"

 

"Right down at the end of the hall."

 

"If you’ll excuse me a moment I’ll ring up a friend of mine who will

know whether this is the right name or not."

 

In five minutes he returned with an __EXPRESSION__ of wonder upon his face.

"I wanted to make sure that this couldn’t be got from my mind, so I

asked a friend of mine to select a name for me. It seems that Marigold

was the name. This is a most wonderful and convincing test, Mr. Vixley;

I must say that I’m amazed."

 

The Professor took his praise modestly. "Oh, I hope to do much better

for you than this after a while, Mr. Payson. The main point is, that

now we can get to work in such a way as to help you practically, without

wastin’ your time on mere experiments. These test conditions is very

apt to deteriorate mediumship and I don’t like to do no more of it than

is absolutely necessary to convince you of the genuineness of my

manifestations.

 

"Now," he added, "before we draw down the shades again, you write down

some important question you want answered and we’ll get down to

business."

 

When Mr. Payson had finished writing, the medium, taking a slip of paper

from his vest pocket unobserved, held it under the table, saying:

 

"Now you fold it twice, each time in half." As Payson did so, Vixley

folded his own slip in a similar manner and held it palmed in his left

hand. After drawing the shades, he said: "Now, then, will you please

hold that paper to your forehead? Not like that—here, let me show you."

 

He took the slip from Mr. Payson and dexterously substituting for it his

own duplicate, held it to his own forehead. "This way, so that it will

be in plain sight all the time." He gave the blank slip to his sitter,

who obeyed the directions.

 

"I think we’ll do better if there’s less light," Vixley said, as he

arose to draw the shades. "You keep hold of that paper. I don’t want

it to go out of your possession for a moment. You see I couldn’t read

it even if I had it, it’s so dark. But if you’ll excuse me, I’ll light

this cigar; I haven’t had a smoke all day."

 

As he spoke, he went to the bookcase, and standing, facing Mr. Payson,

he took a match from a box on the top and lighted the cigar which was

between his teeth. His left hand, which had already secretly unfolded

the ballot, covered the paper. He put it up with a natural gesture to

keep the match from being blown out as he lighted his cigar. The

operation took only a few seconds, but in that time, illuminated by the

match, he was able to read the words: "Will my book be a success?" He

dropped his hand, refolded the ballot with his fingers and held it

hidden. Then he took two slates from the pile.

 

There are many well-known ways of slate-writing, and the sleight-of-hand

necessary in obtaining the ballots and writing the answers is simple

compared with the sort of psychological juggling in which the medium

must be an adept. Professor Vixley, however, had no need of any special

craft with the old man. Mr. Payson was by no means a skilled observer,

and, credulous and desirous of a marvel, was easily hoodwinked by

Vixley’s talk. The simplest methods sufficed, and he worked with

increasing confidence, preparing his sitter’s mind, till it would be

possible for the medium merely to sit at the table and write openly

under the supposititious influence of his control.