The platform was already crowded, but the new-comers threaded their way to the front amid a decorous murmur of welcome. Mr. Peeble shoved and exhorted and two end seats emerged upon which Enid and Malone perched themselves. The arrangement suited them well, for they could use their notebooks freely behind the shelter of the folk in front.
"What is your reaction?" whispered Enid.
"Not impressed as yet."
"No, nor I," said Enid, "but it's very interesting all the same."
People who are in earnest are always interesting, whether you agree with them or not, and it was impossible to doubt that these people were extremely earnest. The hall was crammed, and as one looked down one saw line after line of upturned faces, curiously alike in type, women predominating, but men running them close. That type was not distinguished nor intellectual, but it was undeniably healthy, honest and sane. Small tradesfolk, male and female shopwalkers, better class artisans, lower middle-class women worn with household cares, occasional young folk in search of a sensation—these were the impressions which the audience conveyed to the trained observation of Malone.
The fat president rose and raised his hand.
"My friends," said he, "we have had once more to exclude a great number of people who desired to be with us to-night. It's all a question of the building fund, and Mr. Williams on my left will be glad to hear from any of you I was in a hotel last week and they had a notice hung up in the reception bureau: 'No cheques accepted'. That's not the way Brother Williams talks. You just try him."
The audience laughed. The atmosphere was clearly that of the lecture-hall rather than of the Church.
"There's just one more thing I want to say before I sit down. I'm not here to talk. I'm here to hold this chair down and I mean to do it. It's a hard thing I ask. I want Spiritualists to keep away on Sunday nights. They take up the room that inquirers should have. You can have the morning service. But its better for the cause that there should be room for the stranger. You've had it. Thank God for it. Give the other man a chance." The President plumped back into his chair.
Mr. Peeble sprang to his feet. He was clearly the general utility man who emerges in every society and probably becomes its autocrat. With his thin, eager face and darting hands he was more than a live wire—he was a whole bundle of live wires. Electricity seemed to crackle from his fingertips.
"'Ymn One!" he shrieked.
A harmonium droned and the audience rose. It was a fine hymn and lustily sung:—
"The world hath felt a quickening breath
From Heaven's eternal shore,
And souls triumphant over death
Return to earth once more."
There was a ring of exultation in the voices as the refrain rolled out:
"For this we hold our Jubilee
For this with joy we sing,
Oh Grave, where is thy victory
Oh Death, where is thy sting?"
Yes, they were in earnest, these people. And they did not appear to be mentally weaker than their fellows. And yet both Enid and Malone felt a sensation of great pity as they looked at them. How sad to be deceived upon so intimate a matter as this, to be duped by impostors who used their most sacred feelings and their beloved dead as counters with which to cheat them! What did they know of the laws of evidence, of the cold, immutable decrees of scientific law? Poor earnest, honest, deluded people!
"Now!" screamed Mr. Peeble. "We shall ask Mr. Munro from Australia to give us the invocation."
A wild-looking old man with a shaggy beard and slumbering fire in his eyes rose up and stood for a few seconds with his gaze cast down. Then he began a prayer, very simple, very unpremeditated. Malone jotted down the first sentence: "Oh, Father, we are very ignorant folk and do not well know how to approach You, but we will pray to You the best we know how." It was all cast in that humble key. Enid and Malone exchanged a swift glance of appreciation.
There was another hymn, less successful than the first, and the Chairman then announced that Mr. James Jones of North Shields, would now deliver a trance address which would embody the views of his well-known control, Alasha the Atlantean.
Mr. James Jones, a brisk and decided little man in a faded check suit, came to the front, and, after standing a minute or so as if in deep thought, gave a violent shudder and began to talk. It must be admitted that, save for a certain fixed stare and vacuous glazing of the eye, there was nothing to show that anything save Mr. James Jones, of North Shields, was the orator. It has also to be stated that if Mr. Jones shuddered at the beginning it was the turn of his audience to shudder afterwards. Granting his
