CHAPTER X.

A PRIVATE EXHIBIT. “Oh, Bill! Bill! Bill! What have you done?”--and a woman’s wild scream rent the atmosphere. And no wonder our heroine, standing there in the doorway, was upset. No wonder she clutched at her pompadour in frenzy. No wonder she shook like several leaves. The suddenness of her admirer’s departure was so very--in fact--sudden. After she had shrieked she leaned against the door-jamb, gazing incoherently at that which she saw. It was now Bill’s turn to laugh, and this he did, long, loud and uproariously. Then he shouted in a triumphant crescendo,--“Hi, there, my lady--catch onto the display. And well you may squeal at the sight of your old familiar pig-wheel. Dollars to doughnuts you never shackled as slim a one as this at the yard. Say, watch him. He’s in the swim sure, ain’t he? See him swing--round toward the sticker. That’s me. D’ye hear, madam? I’m the sticker in this yard. And he’s coming to the knife in fine style. Now watch me close, for he’s going to land against the point this time, and then--Aha! ha! ha!--and then--the last hot water plunge, and--” “Monster! monster!” sobbed the lady. Bill laughed again. “Oh, my Lonnie, my Llama!” wailed Mrs. V. And again Bill Vanderhook laughed. “Aha!--your Astral Mate got a move on him that time. Go ask him if he has any fresh data on affinities. Ask him how he likes this newest _attraction_.” “Brute!”--and, dashing past her husband, the distracted lady rushed to the rescue of her primordial mate. She flung herself wildly into the workshop from which she had been so long excluded. The picture presented to her gaze as she crossed the threshold struck terror to her soul. All at once Mrs. Vanderhook felt weak as boiled water. She clasped her hands in frantic protest. “Get onto his curves” bawled Bill. “What d’ye think of your Lonnie Bird now? He’s off his perch, ain’t he? Never miss a Mystic when he moults. And here’s your Lonnie Lammie--at shearing time. Here’s your little piggy-wiggy on a hook. Here’s your-r-r-r”--and the angry husband wound himself up in a knot of words and spluttered off into monosyllabic ravings. Angry and frightened and bewildered by the very unusual scene, Mrs. Vanderhook staggered, moaned a couple of times, and crumpled up over against a big empty packing case. It would have been a braver woman who could look unmoved upon the revenge of the Kankakee druggist. In the center of a long, narrow room strewn with jugs, jars, bottles and chemical apparatus, whirled a small and curious cylinder, a little black machine that gave off a trail of glittering sparks upon the brilliant atmosphere, a tiny monster that sang and purred and whizzed in its dizzy revolutions. It was not, however, this curious machine that attracted the attention of Mrs. Vanderhook. It was neither the brightness, nor energy, nor speed, nor the whizziness of the things in the room that spellbound her. It was the novel attachment of that satanic cylinder which riveted her gaze and temporarily paralyzed her vocal organs. The ethereal despoiler of the Vanderhook home had, indeed, gotten a move on himself. He was “in the air,” and no mistake. At a distance of perhaps ten feet from the revolving cylinder swung the gay Gnani of Gingalee. He was suspended in the air without visible sign of support, and was following the rotary motion of the machine; which meant that he was appearing and disappearing through the floor and ceiling of the room with a rate of motion akin to that Bill Vanderhook was giving the machine. Even the woman, though unfamiliar with theories of electro-dynamics, realized at once that this whirling cylinder possessed electro-magnetic attraction for astral substance. All at once she realized that the Mystic had been captured by the Mayor; that the wise man was in the toils of the druggist. Alas, and alas, the mystical lover was in the clutches of the scientific husband. “You nasty thing!” sobbed Mrs. Vanderhook wildly. And as the awfulness of the situation grew upon her, love lent her courage. She darted past her husband’s outstretched hand and flung herself forward to the rescue of her Mate. Mr. Vanderhook, however, was a true scientist. He was given to detail. He had provided for just that emergency. A fine wire, strung several feet from the floor immediately over a circular copper track which was laid in the floor and around the cylinder, was to serve a very practical purpose. The impulsive creature who would have plucked her “Lonnie Bird” from his unpleasant predicament, was instead, flung violently backward into her husband’s arms. “Soul communion temporarily suspended, you will observe,” grinned the master of ceremonies as he seated his wife upon the packing case. “His hunkey highness from Hindustan is now taking a whirl at physical science. He’ll be able now to prove, as I have said, that all matter isn’t illusion. Ah, there, Lonnie Lammie, how’s this from an astral point of view?” “Extremely unpleasant,” admitted that gentleman, trying to smile. “But I say, Bill, explain this cruel joke. I don’t understand why you should do this. I’m awfully anxious to know how you--that is--one not illuminated could--thus--thus--” “Get the drop on you?” queried Bill pleasantly. “Glad you asked. Dee-lighted to explain. You’ll appreciate the importance of the discovery. It’s a great addition to scientific knowledge”--and the experimenter warmed to scientific enthusiasm, lessened the current which was driving its prisoner relentlessly through floor and ceiling. “I shall undoubtedly appreciate this particular process”--and Mr. Leffingwell appeared to be catching his breath, as he felt himself released from the terrific force generated from somewhere. “But pray go on. I’m deeply interested.” “Very good,” responded Bill, holding his rival suspended that he might converse with him. “You are, of course, aware that, as an astral being, you’ve had enormous advantages over the man encased in the physical.” “True, and yet, you--” “Pardon me,” interrupted the druggist dryly when the Mystic would have chipped in. “This advantage you’ve used remorselessly, to break up my home. You broke the spirit, if not the letter, of occult law. You know you did. You ignored our agreement made before you left Kankakee. You knew and you acknowledged my claim upon Mrs. V., for at least this present dispensation. I told you then that I was perfectly willing to take a back seat in a century or so. Apparently this didn’t satisfy you. You took advantage of your superior learning to sneak into my house like a thief. Oh, yes, of course, you came astrally. Of course you didn’t use skeleton keys. But,--you got there just the same, and you got in your work.” “But,--but,--” pleaded the man from Gingalee--“I never agreed not to seek her enlightenment, at such times and places as might be convenient. I merely returned here to instruct her in the Fifty-Seven-Fold-Path, and to discourse to her upon those several and sundry sheaths which do clothe her higher principles. And--” “Oh, Bosh!” growled Bill. “All that sounds very fine, in your measly old Sanscrit; but you stole her just the same, and that’s plain United States. And now, Mr. Mystic,”--and the angry husband shut his teeth with a savage click--“you must know that outraged confidence will seek revenge. That’s your karma, ain’t it, Mr. Alonzo Leffingwell, Gnani of Gingalee, and Grand High Muckymuck of the Order of Nowhere? I’ve got you, and I’ve got you in your own trap. You’re hoist by your own petard. You went in for Science, and so did I. Science is going to settle this dispute, and you’re about to learn that nature has _several_ laws. Oh, pusillanimous pirate of the air, you are about to realize that invention is the hand-maid of justice, and that science is--the--mother-in-law--of--doom.” “How,--what,--Bill,--I do not comprehend,” murmured Mr. Leffingwell perplexedly, as he disappeared slowly through the ceiling in response to the faint current with which Bill was now holding him. “No?”--queried Bill sarcastically as the gentleman reappeared. “Then there are, after all, some few things you don’t comprehend. Well, then--” and the druggist drew himself up with calm ferocity--“I will enlighten you. Hear then my pronunciamento. You’ve been weighed in the balance and found wanting--everything that didn’t rightfully belong to you; and because of that I, your self-appointed judge and executioner, have resolved--upon--your--complete--annihilation.” “A-n-n-i-h-i-l-a-t-i-o-n-!” “A-n-n-i-h-i-l-a-t-i-o-n-!” The mournful tenor of the Mystic mingled with the high C of his primordial Mate. “Yes, just that”--burst forth the druggist savagely. “When I discovered that you were not only dead to the proprieties and deaf to appeals, but that you were impervious to boot-jacks and bullets, I set to thinking as to the best manner of dealing with the situation. When I saw you chipper as a lark when impaled on a carving knife, I realized the insufficiency of brute force. It was then that I turned to science and planned for this my long sought and well earned R-E-V-E-N-G-E.” This last word came out in a long hissing whisper, the which is so effective upon the stage. The Seer was now staring at the druggist in open faced dismay. Imogene was whimpering softly. “To this end,” continued Mr. Vanderhook, “I practically gave up my business. I constructed this laboratory. I gave up Mrs. V.’s society. I permitted _you_ to entertain her while I buried myself to work out _my revenge_. During the past five months I’ve acquainted myself with all the great authorities on chemistry, electricity, alchemy, astrology, theosophy, and occultism generally. I’ve studied Darwin and Haeckel and Huxley and Tyndall. I’ve familiarized myself with all of the facts of all of the sciences. I’ve saturated myself with the theories of all the philosophers, prophets and cranks. I’ve studied the body from monkey to man. I’ve chased the elusive soul down through the unintelligible symbolism of Buddha, on down to the ultimate atom of Huxley--and I’ve made a Great Discovery. Your school of mysticism’s a fake. I’ve smashed your occultism to smithereens, and I can bear witness to the wisdom of that eminent materialist who said,--‘I have tried the soul in the crucible and found it Protoplasm.’” “You--you--deny the soul?” broke out the Mystic in astonishment. “Quite the contrary,” said Mr. Vanderhook. “I’m convinced that there is a soul, or more scientifically speaking, an astral man. But this astral man is nothing but a duplicate of the physical man, consisting of highly attenuated substance. This soul man, or astral man, under certain conditions, can separate himself from the coarser body and cut up just such didos as you have. But”--and Bill’s voice assumed the patronizing intonation of the pedagogue--“now the fact is, confidentially, this astral man is nothing but a mere emanation of the physical, and is governed--that is, ultimately--by the same physical laws. Now, for instance, you talk of a soul, and a spirit, because you don’t know any better. In reality these phenomena of the astral plane are only material phenomena of a higher grade or quality than we can ordinarily get at through our physical senses. But, and again,”--and Bill Vanderhook sniffed disdainfully--“you’re no more immortal (because you can’t be seen by everybody) than a wiggle-tail is. Now we can’t see nor feel the millions of baby tadpoles nor wigglers in water. But that ain’t saying they’re spirits, nor that they have immortal souls. Now, Mr. Mystic, a soul or an astral man is just as natural as flesh and bone. He is in no sense independent of the finer physical forces, and he is subject to natural law just as much as if he were going around wearing his body.” “You have certainly studied to some purpose,” admitted Mr. Leffingwell. “More than this,” continued the materialist enthusiastically, “I have studied and completely mastered this principle of soul mating.” The Mystic started--but he did not get very far. Mrs. Vanderhook looked up eagerly, hopefully. “Yes, I admit,” continued Bill genially, “that I find your old Oriental fakirs were mainly right. I, however, have been able to prove that your soul affinity is just plain chemical affinity--just plain chemical affinity without any frills. It’s an affinity that depends upon whether you’re made up of the kind of chemical substances that naturally combine. F’r instance,--I can take any two people and feed ’em both on pie or pig or potatoes, and produce the same kind of affinity you talk about.” Alonzo Leffingwell shuddered. Mrs. V. looked at him questioningly. Bill’s unexpected wisdom was making an impression upon his wife. “Fact,” continued Bill, delighted with the impression he was making--“now I don’t deny”--turning to Alonzo exclusively--“that by a proper course of diet and an ultimate arrangement of particles, my wife might coördinate with you; but I do say, and you hear me, that she has been, and is, and is likely to remain, much nearer to me than to you. Chemically speaking she has not attained to you. She quite lacks the refinement, attenuation and imponderability you have achieved. In short, she is not yet quite as swift as you are, and therefore much better suited to my condition than to yours.” Continued Bill--“When once I had established the ‘Immortal Soul’ of the occultist and the ‘Atomic Energy’ of Science as identical, I had a reasonable basis, a sound hypothesis upon which to proceed. You, Mr. Gnani, representing this ‘Soul’ became the material for a rare experiment. And you are now, at this hour, as it were, my working capital.” “And now, having satisfied yourself that certain scientific methods may be applied to certain astral phenomena, what more would you have?”--ventured Mr. Leffingwell nervously. “Now that you have made your point, I implore you, Bill, to let me out of this.” The Honorable William K. Vanderhook (with his hand still on the lever) cocked his head to one side. He gave the Mystic one long look out of one eye. The other one he closed. “As you must know,” he continued serenely, “primordial matter, which is astral matter, results from a condensation of ether substance into helium, or biogen. It is of this attenuated, gaseous matter that you are composed. This being true, it is easily possible to convert or reduce you back into a semi-material state of hydrogen. Catch on?” “I do,” admitted the Seer sorrowfully as he passed slowly downward still swaying along the circle of attraction. “But now”--he implored--“as you have no further use for me, can’t we take a spell off for further discussion? I’m getting pretty tired, Bill.” “I never did see such a kicker,” said Bill. “When I’ve been so considerate, too. Why, you see, Leff, that the chrysalis of attraction in which you move is so cunningly tempered as to swing you in a perfect circle about twenty feet in diameter. So, you see, you are in no sense exposed, as it were, publicly. You are so adjusted as not to be dragged through the roof, over the damp grass, through the sewer pipes nor yet across the clothes-line in the back yard. In thus making you a strictly Private Exhibit I’ve paid the deference due to your profession which you yourself have so disgraced. I wonder, now, Leff, if you haven’t guessed what I’ve been up to all this time?” Alonzo shook his head dejectedly. “No?”--interrogatively. “Well, then,” said Bill--“I’ve just reached the delicate point of practically solving the problem of astral substance; or, of reducing astral substance to visible, tangible, physical substance. And the proof which is necessary depends now only upon the nicety of modern mechanical construction. In short, I believe that I am about to demonstrate that in electro-dynamics lurks the secret of the ‘Soul.’” “But, Bill, I say,--Bill, old fellow. Surely you are not going to experiment on ME? Surely you are going to release me from this uncomfortable situation?” “Why, my dear boy,” said Bill Vanderhook good humoredly, “would you balk such an experiment on the very threshold of success? Permit me to assure you that the performance is only half over and the best of the features are yet to come.”