“Say, Mr. Bangs,” he whispered, “if you was a sperit would you leave a comf’table berth up aloft to come and anchor alongside that noise?”

The “noise” became more enthusiastic as the musician warmed to her work.  Miss Hoag stirred uneasily in her chair.  Captain Jethro bent toward her.

“Tell her not to play so loud,” whispered Marietta.  The captain obeyed.

“Come, come, Primmie,” he said, irritably.  “Go easy on it, soften her down.  Play low.  And stop stompin’ out the time with your foot.”

Thus cautioned Miss Cash played low, very low, and also very slowly.  “The Sweet By and By” droned on, over and over, in the dark stuffiness of the crowded room.  Galusha Bangs, who had been at first much amused, began to be bored.  Incidentally he was extremely sorry for Lulie, poor girl, who was compelled to be present at this ridiculous exhibition of her father’s obsession.  Heavy breathing sounded near at hand, growing steadily heavier until it became a snore.  The snore broke off in the middle and with a sharp and most unchurchly ejaculation, as if the snorer had been awakened suddenly and painfully.  Galusha fancied he recognized Mr. Harding’s voice.  Primmie ended her thirty-second rendition of the “Sweet By and By” chorus and began the thirty-third.

Then Miss Hoag began to groan.  The first groan was so loud and unexpected that Miss Cash gasped “My savin’ soul!” into the mouth organ.  Marietta continued to groan, also to pound the floor with her heels.  In her capacity as “medium” she, like other mediums—­ mediums of her stripe, that is—­was “getting under control.”

Then followed the usual sort of thing which follows at this sort of seance.  Miss Hoag, through her “control,” began to receive and transmit “messages.”  The control spoke in a kind of husky howl, so to speak, and used a lingo most unusual on this plane, however common it may be elsewhere.

Mr. Bangs was startled when first favored with a sample of this—­ literally—­unearthly elocution.

“Oh, dear me!” he exclaimed.  “Oh, dear!  Why does she do that?  Is—­is she ill?”

Miss Beebe answered, from her place in the circle.  “It’s her sperit control talkin’ now,” she whispered.  “She’s controlled by a China woman.”

“Name of Little Cherry Blossom,” whispered Mr. Harding.

“Sshh!” said several voices, indignantly.

“Allee samee comee manee namee Johnee,” announced Little Cherry Blossom.  “Anybody heree knowee manee Johnee?”

Several did, of course, and John was soon undergoing cross-examination.  He proved to be the cousin of Mrs. Hannah Peters’ first husband who was drowned on the Grand Banks fifteen or sixteen years before.  “John-ee” was, like so many of his kind, a bit shaky on names and dates but strong on generalities.  However, everybody except the few skeptics from the Phipps’ place seemed satisfied and made no embarrassing comments.