Miss Black
agreed to do so, provided she might have a chair instead of a music
stool.
"I wouldn't risk settin' on that plaguy, slippery haircloth thing again
for no mortal soul," declared the irate Tamson, meaning, doubtless, to
include immortals. A chair was provided, again the lights were dimmed,
and the seance resumed, punctuated now at minute intervals by the
shattering bellows of the great foghorn.
In a few minutes the messages began to arrive. They were of similar
vague import to those of the previous seance and, couched in Little
Cherry Blossom's weird gibberish, were vaguer still. Occasionally a
spirit seeking identification went away unrecognized, but not often. For
the most part the identifying details supplied were so general that they
were almost certain to fit a departed relative or friend of some
one present. And, as is usual under such circumstances, the would-be
recognizer was so pathetically eager to recognize. Even Galusha, dully
inert as he was just then, again felt his indignation stirred by the
shabby mockery of it all.
Obed Taylor received a message from his brother Daniel who had died
in infancy. Daniel declared himself very happy. So, too, did Ophelia
Beebe's great-aunt Samona, who had "passed over" some time in the
'fifties. Aunt Samona was joyful--oh, so joyful. Miss Black's name was
called.
"Tamson!" croaked Little Cherry Blossom.
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