my way of thinking. Do you know I’ve often wondered if, perhaps, on some of the planets such a state of affairs did not actually exist.”
“What a dreamy chap you are, to be sure, De Veber,” said Philpot, yawning. “It would be a deuced disagreeable state of affairs if a fellow had to carry his wife about with him wherever he went. But I’m sick of the discussion, and my pipe is out. After I fill up—my dear boy I shall have to trouble you again for the tobacco bag—suppose we turn our attention to Mirrikh. A union of souls or a union of bodies is scarcely worth considering, but a union of black and white, or black and yellow, in a man’s face we have seen to-night, and I, for one, am puzzled to death to understand what it means.”
“And we might puzzle ourselves over it to all eternity, and then not understand it,” said Maurice.
“Just so. Could you spare another nip of that brandy, De Veber? Ah, thanks! Yours truly! It shall be only a little one, for there’s precious little left. Devilish good liquor that! I’ll warrant you had it sent out to you from New York. Some favorite brand that you had been accustomed to drinking, no doubt.”
“On the contrary, I bought it in Panompin,” replied Maurice, “We Americans don’t all drink spirits as the English do. I never tasted liquor until after I left for the East.”
“Come now, that’s pretty good!” exclaimed the Doctor. “Americans don’t drink spirits like the English. Why man, I never knew the capacity of the human system to dispose of alcohol until I visited your Chicago, and that is not to be compared with some of the Canadian cities. But speaking of spirits, brings us by natural and easy stages to Spiritualism. Ardent spirits wandering down a fellow’s gullet naturally suggests wandering spirits from another sphere ardently seeking to return to the scene of their earthly pains and pleasures. There, I throw down the gauntlet, boys. Spiritualism—Mirrikh. Mirrikh—Spiritualism. I don’t care which is on top. Let the chairman of the committee on manifestations, materializations and mediumistic humbuggery, take it up and express his views.”
“Bless my soul, Mr. Philpot, how you do rattle on,” I answered, half angrily, as I threw a few fresh sticks on the fire. “What in the name of sense has Spiritualism got to do with Mirrikh? You don’t consider him a ghost, I suppose?”
