"Sh-sh! There's nothing to be afraid of," whispered the doctor. "This is splendid."
Neither of the young men made any sign.
The table now remained motionless for it may have been a minute; at the end of which period it began, very slowly, to tip upward in the direction of Ormizon, and downward in the direction of Lancelot, who was facing him. It kept its balance in this position for a few seconds, when it slowly returned to its natural place.
"Gosh!" exclaimed Lancelot.
"You know," said the doctor, "three raps mean yes; two raps mean no. Now I'm going to ask . . . Is—there—a—spirit—present?" she demanded, making each syllable very loud and clear, and pausing after each word.
Slowly the table tipped upward, and descended with a rap upon the floor, three times: yes!
"Oh, do not, do not let us go on," pleaded Denise. "This is horrible."
"Hush—hush!" the doctor implored her. "They'll go away if you talk like that. Now I'm going to ask its name. You know, I will repeat the alphabet; and when the right letter is reached the table will rap. Then some one must write that letter down; and I'll begin the alphabet again, and it will rap at the second letter; and so on to the end. This is a pretty slow process, but it's about the only practical one I know of.—Now, who's got a pencil? Ah, thank you, Lancelot. All right. There; now I'll repeat the alphabet; and you, Mr. Ormizon, you write down the letters. . . . Will—you—spell—out—your—name?"—addressing the spirit.
Three raps.
"Very well. . . . A—b—c—d—e—" She continued as far as T, at which point the table rapped. Ormizon wrote T upon his paper; and the doctor began anew, "A—b—c—" etc., till O was reached, when again the table rapped, and again she started, "A—b—c—"
It was a slow process. So much time elapsed between each letter and its successor that nobody remembered those that had gone before. By and by, after having bumped the floor at D, the table rapped thrice—which, the doctor said, meant that the spelling was concluded.
"Well, what is its name?" they all queried eagerly of Ormizon.
He handed the paper to Dr. Gluck.
"Well," she said, with great solemnity, "the letters are all written out in a line, without being divided. Let me see. T—O—M—M—Y—T—O—D—D—Tom—Tommy—Tommy Todd."
Lancelot burst into a wild guffaw. Ormizon followed his example. Denise laughed, too; but her laughter was nervous, her amusement evidently being tempered by fear.
The doctor alone preserved her gravity. "What are you laughing at?" she inquired.
"Tommy Todd!" shrieked Lancelot. "Tommy Todd!" And his laughter shook him from head to foot.
"It is an odd name—for a spirit," the doctor admitted. "They often do have very odd names indeed. But you mustn't laugh that way.
