Raspberry Jam

“Oh, do you believe in it, Mason?” said Eunice, animatedly; “for this is a faked affair—or, rather, the explanation of one. It’s the Hanlon boy, you know—”

“Yes; I know. But what’s the racket with you two turtle-doves? I come in, and find Eunice wearing the pet expression of a tragedy queen and Sanford, here, doing the irate husband. Going into the movies?”

“Yes, that’s it,” and Eunice smiled bravely, although her lips still quivered from her recent turbulent quarrel, and a light, jaunty air was forced to conceal her lingering nervousness.

“Irate husband is good!” laughed Embury, “considering we are yet honeymooners.”

“Good dissemblers, both of you,” and Elliott settled himself in an easy chair, “but you don’t fool your old friend. Talk about thought-transference—it doesn’t take much of that commodity to read that you two were interrupted by my entrance in the middle of a real, honest-to-goodness, cats’-and-dogs’ quarrel.”

“All right, have it your own way,” and Embury laughed shortly; “but it wasn’t the middle of it, it was about over.”

“All but the making up! Shall I fade away for fifteen minutes?”

“No,” protested Eunice. “It was only one of the little tiffs that happen in the best families! Now, listen, Mason—”

“My dear lady, I live but on the chance of being permitted to listen to you—only in the hope that I may listen early and often—”

“Oh, hush! What a silly you are!”

“Silly, is it? Remember I was your childhood playmate. Would you have kept me on your string all these years if I were silly? And here’s another of my childhood friends! How do you do, most gracious lady?”

With courtly deference Elliott rose to greet Aunt Abby, who came into the living-room from Eunice’s bedroom.

Her black silk rustled and her old point lace fell yellowly round her slender old hands, for on Sunday afternoon Miss Ames dressed the part.

“How are you, Mason,” she said, but with a preoccupied air. “What time is Mr. Hanlon coming, Eunice?”

“Soon now, I think,” and Eunice spoke with entire composure, her angry excitement all subdued. It was characteristic of her that after a fit of temper, she was more than usually soft and gentle. More considerate of others and even, more roguishly merry.

“You know, Mason, that what we are to be told to-day is a most inviolable secret—that is, it is a secret until tomorrow.”

“Never put off till to-morrow what you can tell to-night,” returned Elliott, but he listened attentively while Eunice and Aunt Abby described the performance of the young man Hanlon.

“Of course,” Elliott observed, a little disappointedly, “if he says he hoaxed the crowd, of course he did; but in that case I’ve no interest in the thing. I’d like it better if he were honest.”

“Oh, he’s honest enough,” corrected Embury; “he owns right up that it was a trick. Why, good heavens, man! if it hadn’t been, he couldn’t have done it at all. I’m rather keen to know just how he managed, though, for the yarn of Eunice and Aunt Abby is a bit mystifying.”

“Don’t depend too much on the tale of interested spectators. They’re the worst possible witnesses! They see only what they wish to see.”

“Only what Hanlon wished us to see,” corrected Eunice, gaily. And then Hanlon, himself, and Alvord Hendricks arrived together.

“Met on the doorstep,” said Hendricks as he came in. “Mr. Hanlon is a little stage-struck, so it’s lucky I happened along.”

Willy Hanlon, as he was called in the papers, came shyly forward and Eunice, with her ready tact, proceeded to put him at once at his ease.

“You came just at the right minute to help me out,” she said, smiling at him. “They are saying women are no good at describing a scene! They say that we can’t be relied on for accuracy. So, now you’re here and you can tell what really happened.”

“Yes, ma’am,” and Hanlon swallowed, a little embarrassedly; “that’s what I came for, ma’am. But first, are you all straight goods? Will you all promise not to tell what I tell you before tomorrow morning?”

They all promised on their honor, and, satisfied, Hanlon began his tale.

“You see, it’s a game that can’t be played too often or too close together,” he said; “I mean, if I put it over around here, I can’t risk it again nearer than some several states away. And even then it’s likely to get caught on to.”

“Have you put it over often?” asked Hendricks, interestedly.

“Yes, sir—well, say, about a dozen times altogether. Now I’m going to chuck it, for it’s too risky. And so, I’ve sold the story of how I do it to the newspaper syndicate for more than I’d make out of it in a dozen performances. You can read it all in to-morrow’s papers, but Mrs. Embury, she asked me to tell it here and I said yes—’cause—’cause—well, ’cause I wanted to!”

The boyish outburst was so unmistakably one of admiration, of immediate capitulation to Eunice’s charm, that she blushed adorably, and the others laughed outright.

“One more scalp, Euny,” said Elliott; “oh, you can’t help it, I know.”

“Go on, Mr. Hanlon,” said Eunice, and he went on.

“You see, to make you understand it rightly, I must go back a ways. I’ve done all sorts of magic stunts and I’m kinda fond of athletics. I’ve given exhibitions along both those lines in athletic clubs and in ladies’ parlors, too. Well, I had a natural talent for making my ears move—lots of fellows do that, I know; but I got pretty spry at it.”

“What for?” asked Embury.

“Nothing particular, sir, only one thing led to another. One day I read in an English magazine about somebody pulling off this trick—this blindfold chase, and I said to myself I b’lieved I could do it first rate and maybe make easy money. I don’t deny I’m out after the coin. I’ve got to get my living, and if I’d rather do it by gulling the public, why, it’s no more than many a better man does.”

“Right you are,” said Elliott.

“So, ‘s I say, I read this piece that told just how to do it, and I set to work. You may think it’s funny, but the first step was working my forehead muscles.”

“Whatever for?” cried Aunt Abby, who was listening, perhaps most intently of all.

“I’ll tell you, in a jiffy, ma’am,” and Hanlon smiled respectfully at the eager old face.

“You see, if you’ll take notice, the muscles of your forehead, just above your eyebrows, work whenever you shut or open your eyes. Yes, try it, ma’am,” as Aunt Abby wrinkled her forehead spasmodically. “Shut your eyes, ma’am. Now, cover them closely with the palm of your left hand. Press it close—so. Now, with your hand there, open your eyes slowly, and feel your forehead muscles go up. They have to, you can’t help it. Now, that’s the keynote of the whole thing.”

“Clear as Erebus!” remarked Hendricks. “I don’t get you, Steve.”

“Nor I,” and Eunice sat with her hand against her eyes, drawing her lovely brows into contortions.

“Well, never mind trying; I’ll just tell you about it.” Hanlon laughed good-naturedly at the frantic attempts of all of them to open their eyes in accordance with his directions.

“Anyhow, you gentleman know, for I know you all belong to a big athletic club, that if you exercise any set of muscles regularly and for a long time, they will develop and expand and become greatly increased in size and strength.”

“Sure,” said Hendricks. “I once developed my biceps—”

“Yes, that’s what I mean. Well, sir, I worked at my forehead muscles some hours a day for months and I kept at it until I had those muscles not only developed and in fine working condition but absolutely under my control. Look!”

They gazed, fascinated, while the strange visitor moved the skin of his forehead up and down and sideways, and in strange circular movements. He seemed distinctly proud of his accomplishment and paused for approbation.

“Marvelous, Holmes, marvelous!” exclaimed Hendricks, who had discovered that Hanlon did not resent jocularity, “but—what for?”

“Can’t you guess?” and the young man smiled mysteriously. “Try.”

“Give it up,” and Hendricks shook his head. “I think it’s more wonderful to get thought-transference by wiggling your forehead than any other way I ever heard of, but I can’t guess how it helps.”

“Can’t any of you?” and Hanlon looked around the circle.

“Wait a minute,” said Aunt Abby, who was thinking hard. “Let me try. Is it because when the thought waves jump from the ‘guide’ to you they strike your forehead first—”

“And it acts as a wireless receiving station? No, ma’am, that isn’t it. And, too, ma’am, I owned up, you know, that the whole thing was a fake, a trick. You see, there was no ‘thought-transference,’—not any—none at all.”

“Then what do you accomplish with your forehead muscles?” asked Eunice, unable to restrain her impatience.

Chapter V

The Explanation

“Just this, Mrs. Embury, the impossibility of my being blindfolded. As a matter of fact, it is practically impossible to blindfold anybody, anyway.”

“Why, what do you mean?” interrupted Hendricks. “Why is it?”

“Because the natural formation of most people’s noses allows them to see straight down beneath an ordinary bandage. I doubt if one child out of a hundred who plays ‘Blind Man’s Buff’ is really unable to see at all.”

“That’s so,” said Embury, “when I played it, as a kid, I could always see straight down—though not, of course, laterally.”

“And noses are different,” went on Hanlon. “Some prominent beaks could never be blindfolded, but some small, flat noses might be. However, this refers to ordinary blindfolding with an ordinary handkerchief. When it comes to putting fat cotton pads in one’s eye sockets, before the thick bandage is added, it necessitates previous preparation. So, my powers of contracting and expanding my forehead muscles allow me to push the pads out of the way, and enable me to see straight down the sides of my nose from under the bandage. Of course, I can see only the ground, and that but in a circumscribed area around my feet, but it’s enough.”

“How?” asked Eunice, her piquant face eagerly turned to the speaker. “How did you know which way to turn?”

“I don’t like it,” declared Aunt Abby. “I hate it—I’m absolutely disgusted with the whole performance! I detest practical jokes!”

“Oh, come now, Miss Ames,” and Hendricks chuckled; “this isn’t exactly a joke—it’s a hoax, and a new one, but it’s a legitimate game. From the Davenport Brothers and Herrmann, on down through the line of lesser lights in the conjuring business—even our own Houdini—we know there is a trick somewhere; the fun is in finding it. Hanlon’s is a new one and a gem—I don’t even begin to see through it yet.”

“Neither do I,” agreed Mason Eliott. “I think to do what he did by a trick is really more of a feat than to be led by real thought-transference.”

“Except that the real thing isn’t available—and trick-work is.” Hanlon smiled genially as he said this, and Embury, a little impatiently, urged him to go on, and begged the others to cease their interruptions.

“Well,” Hanlon resumed, “understand, then, that I cannot be really blindfolded. No committee of citizens, however determined, can bandage my eyes in such a manner that I can’t wiggle my forehead about sufficiently to get the pads up or down or one side or the other until I can see—all I want to.” Hanlon knotted up his frontal muscles to prove that a bandage tied tightly would become loose when he relaxed the strain. “Understand that I can see the ground only for a few inches directly at the front of me or very close to my sides. That is all.”

“O.K.,” said Hendricks. “Now, with your sight assured for that very limited space, what is next?”

“That, sir, is enough to explain the little game I put over in the newspaper office, before trying the out-of-door test. You remember, ladies, Mr. Mortimer told you how I followed a chalk line, drawn on the floor, and which led me up and down stairs, over chairs, under desks, and all that. Well, it was dead easy, because I could see the line on the floor all the time. Their confidence in their ‘secure’ blindfolding made them entirely unsuspicious of my ability to see. So, that was easy.”

“Clever, though,” and Embury looked at young Hanlon with admiration. “Simple, but most perfectly convincing.”

“Yes, sir, it was the very simplicity of it that gulled ‘em. And, of course, I’m some actor. I groped around, and felt my way by chairs and railings and door-frames, though I needn’t have touched one of ‘em. My way was plainly marked, and I could see the chalk line and all I had to do was to follow it. But it was that preliminary test that fixed it in their minds about the ‘willing’ business. I kept asking the ‘guide’ to keep his mind firmly on his efforts to ‘will’ me. I begged him to use all his mental powers to keep me in the right direction—oh, I have that poppycock all down fine—just as the mediums at the séances have.”

Aunt Abby sniffed disdainfully, and Embury chuckled at her expression. Though not a ‘spiritualist,’ Miss Ames was greatly interested in telepathy and kindred subjects and like all the apostles of such cults she disliked to hear of frauds committed in their names.

“Go on,” said Eunice, her eyes dancing with anticipation. “I love a hoax of this sort, but I can’t imagine yet how you did it! I understand about the blindfolding, though, and of course that was half the battle.”

“It was, ma’am, and the other half was—boots!”

“Boots!”

“Yes, ma’am. Do you know that you seldom see two pairs of boots or shoes alike on men?”

“I thought they were all alike,” exclaimed Eunice. “I mean all street shoes alike, and all pumps alike, and so forth.”

“No, not that,” and Embury laughed; “but, I say, Hanlon, there are thousands of duplicates!”

“Not so you’d notice it! But let me explain. First, however, here are four men present. Let’s compare our shoes.”

Eight feet were extended, and it was surprising to note the difference in the footgear. Naturally, Hanlon’s were of a cheaper grade than the others, but whereas it might have been expected that the three society men would wear almost identical boots, they were decidedly varied. Each pair was correct in style, and the work of the best bootmakers, but the difference in the design of tip, side cut, sole and fastening was quite sufficient to prevent mistaking one for another.

“You see,” said Hanlon. “Well, take a whole lot of your men friends, even if they all go to the same bootmaker, and you’ll find as much difference. I don’t mean that there are not thousands of shoes turned out in the same factory, as alike as peas, but there is small chance of striking two pairs alike in any group of men. Then, too, there is the wear to be counted on. Suppose two of you men had bought shoes exactly alike, you wear them differently; one may run over his heel slightly, another may stub out the toe. But, these things are observable only to a trained eye. So—I trained my eye. I made a study of it, and now, if I see a shoe once, I never forget it, and never connect it with the wrong man. On the street, in the cars, everywhere I go, I look at shoes—or, rather, I did when I was training for this stunt. It was fascinating, really. Why, sometimes the only identifying mark would be the places worn or rubbed by the bones of the man’s foot—but it was there, allee samee! I nailed ‘m, every one! Oh, I didn’t remember them all—that was only practice. But here’s the application; when I started on that trip in Newark, I was introduced to Mr. Mortimer. Mind you, it was the first time I had ever laid eyes on the man. Well, unnoticed by anybody, of course, I caught onto his shoes. They were, probably, to other people, merely ordinary shoes, but to me they were as a flaming beacon light! I stamped them on my memory, every detail of them. They were not brand new, for, of course, anybody would choose an easy old pair for that walk. So there were scratches, bumps, and worn, rubbed places, that, with their general make-up, rendered them unmistakable to yours truly! Then I was ready. The earnest but easily-gulled committee carefully adjusted their useless pads of cotton and their thick bandage over my eyes, and I was led forth to the fray.

“Remember, I asked Mr. Mortimer not only to think of the hidden penknife, and will me toward it, but also to look toward it himself. Now, to look toward any object, a man usually turns his whole body in that direction. So, groping about, clumsily, I managed to get sight of the toes of those well-remembered boots. Seeing which way they were pointed was all the information I needed just then. So, with all sorts of hesitating movements and false starts, I finally trotted off in the direction he had faced. The rest is easy. Of course, coming to a corner, I was absolutely in the dark as to whether I was to turn or to keep straight ahead. This necessitated my turning back to Mr. Mortimer to catch a glimpse of which way his feet were pointing. I covered this by speaking to him, begging him to will me aright—to will me more earnestly—or some such bunk. I could invent many reasons for turning round; pretend I had lost my feeling of ‘guidance,’ or pretend I heard a sudden noise, as of danger, or even pretend I felt I was going wrong. Well, I got a peek at those feet as often as was necessary, and the rest was just play-acting to mislead the people’s minds. Of course, when I stumbled over a stone or nearly fell into a coal hole or grating, it was all pretense. I saw the pavements as well as anybody, and my effort was to seem unaware of what was coming. Had I carefully avoided obstacles, they would know I could see.”

“And when you reached that vacant lot?” prompted Eunice.

“I saw friend Mortimer’s feet were pointing toward the center of the lot, and not in the direction of either street. So I turned in, and when I got where I could see the burned-down house, I guessed that was the hiding-place. So I circled around it, urging my ‘guide’ to look toward the place, and then noting his feet. I had to do a bit of scratching about; but remember, I could see perfectly, and I felt sure the knife was in the charred and blackened rubbish, so I just hunted till I found it. That’s all.”

“Well, it does sound simple and easy as you tell it, but, believe me, Hanlon, I appreciate the cleverness of the thing and the real work you went through in preparation for it all,” Hendricks said, heartily, and the other men added words of admiration and approval.

But Miss Ames was distinctly displeased.

“I wouldn’t mind, if you’d advertised it as a trick,” she said, in an injured tone, “as, say, the conjurors do such tricks, but everybody knows they’re fooling their audience. It is expected.”

“Yes, lady,” Hanlon smiled, “but the fake mediums and spirit-raisers, they don’t say they’re frauds—but they are.”

“Sir, you don’t know what you’re talking about! Just because there are some tricksters in that, as in all professions, you must not denounce them all.”

“They’re all fakes, lady,” and Hanlon’s air of sincerity carried conviction to all but Aunt Abby.

“How do you know?” she demanded angrily.

“I’ve looked into it—I’ve looked into all sorts of stunts like these. It’s in my nature, I guess. And all professional mediums are frauds. You bank on that, ma’am! If you want to tip tables or run a Ouija Board with some honest friends of yours, go ahead; but any man or woman who takes your money for showing you spiritual revelations of any sort, is a fraud and a charlatan.”

“There’s no exception?” asked Embury, quite surprised.

“Not among the professionals. They wouldn’t keep on in their profession if they didn’t put up the goods. And to do that, they’ve got to use the means.”

“Why—why, young man—” cried Aunt Abby, explosively, “you just read ‘The Voice of Isis’! You read—”

“That’s all right, they are plenty of fake books, more, prob’ly, than fake mediums, but you read some books that I’ll recommend. You read ‘Behind the Scenes With the Mediums,’ or ‘The Spirit World Unveiled,’ and see where you’re at then! No, ma’am, the only good spook is a dead spook, and they don’t come joy-riding back to earth.”

“But,” and Eunice gazed earnestly at her guest, “is there nothing—nothing at all in telepathy?”

“Now you’ve asked a question, ma’am. I don’t say there isn’t, but I do say there isn’t two per cent of what the fakers claim there is. I’ll grant just about two per cent of real stuff in this talk of telepathy and thought-transference, and even that is mostly getting a letter the very day you were thinking about the writer!”

Embury laughed. “That’s as close as I’ve ever come to it,” he said.

“Yep, that’s the commonest stunt. That and the ghostly good-by appearance of a friend that’s dyin’ at the time in a distant land.”

“Aren’t those cases ever true?” Eunice asked.

“‘Bout two per cent of ‘em. Most of those that have been traced down to actual evidence have fizzled out. Well, I must be going. You see, now, I’ve sold this whole spiel that I’ve just given you folks to a big newspaper syndicate, and I got well paid. That puts me on Easy Street, for the time bein’, and I’m going to practice up for a new stunt. When you hear again of Willy Hanlon, it’ll be in a very different line of goods!”

“What?” asked Eunice, interestedly.

“‘Scuse me, ma’am. I’d tell you, if I’d tell anybody. But, you see, it ain’t good business. I just thought up a new line of work and I’m going to take time to perfect myself in it, and then spring it on a long-sufferin’ public.”

“No, I won’t ask you to tell, of course,” Eunice agreed, “but when you give an exhibition, if it’s near New York, let me know, won’t you?”

“Yes, ma’am, I sure will. And now I’ll move on.”

“Oh, no, you must wait for a cup of tea; we’ll have it brought at once.”

Eunice left the room for a moment. Aunt Abby in dudgeon, refused to talk to the disappointing visitor. But the three men quickly engaged him in conversation and Hanlon told some anecdotes of his past experiences that kept them interested.

Ferdinand brought in the tea things, and Eunice, with her graceful hospitality, saw to it that her guest was in no way embarrassed or bothered by unaccustomed service.

“I’ve had a right good time,” he said in his boyish way, as he rose to go. “Thank you, ma’am, for the tea and things. I liked it all.”

His comprehensive glance that swept the room and its occupants was a sincere compliment and after he had gone there was only kindly comment on his personality.

Except from Aunt Abby.

“He’s an ignorant boor,” she announced.

“Now, now,” objected Eunice, “you only say that because he upset your favorite delusions. He punctured your bubbles and pulled down your air-castles. Give it up, Aunt Abby, there’s nothing in your ‘Voice of Isis’ racket!”

“Permit me to be the judge of my own five senses, Eunice, if you please.”

“That’s just it, Miss Ames,” spoke up Hendricks. “Is your psychic information, or whatever it is, discernible to your five senses, or any of them?”

“Of course, or how could I realize the presence of the psychic forces?”

“I don’t know just what those things are, but I supposed they were available only to a sort of sixth sense—or seventh! Why, I have five senses, but I don’t lay claim to any more than that.”

“You’re a trifler, and I decline to discuss the subject seriously with you. You’ve always been a trifler, Alvord—remember, I’ve known you from boyhood, and though you’ve a brilliant brain, you have not utilized it to the best advantage.”

“Sorry, ma’am,” and the handsome face put on a mock penitence, “but I’m too far advanced in years to pull up now.”

“Nonsense! you’re barely thirty! That’s a young man.”

“Not nowadays. They say, after thirty, a man begins to fall to pieces, mentally.”

“Oh, Al, what nonsense!” cried Eunice. “Why, thirty isn’t even far enough along to be called the prime of life!”

“Oh, yes, it is, Eunice, in this day and generation. Nobody thinks a man can do any great creative work after thirty. Inventing, you know, or art or literature—honestly, that’s the attitude now. Isn’t it, Mason?”

Elliott looked serious. “It is an opinion recently expressed by some big man,” he admitted. “But I don’t subscribe to it. Why, I’d be sorry to think I’m a down-and-outer! And I’m in the class with you and Embury.”

“You’re none of you in the sere and yellow,” declared Eunice, laughing at the idea. “Why, even Aunt Abby, in spite of the family record, is about as young as any of us.”