For whom are we waiting?" he asked
impatiently. "Where is Winthrop?"
Judge Gaylor explained that Winthrop preferred to wait
downstairs, and that he had said he would remain there until the
seance was finished.
"Afraid of compromising his position," commented the old man.
"I'm sorry. I'd like to have him here." He motioned Gaylor to
bend nearer. In a voice that trembled with eagerness and
excitement, he whispered: "Henry, I have a feeling that we are
going to witness a remarkable phenomenon."
Gaylor's countenance grew preternaturally grave. He nodded
heavily.
"I have the same feeling, Stephen," he returned.
Vance raised his hand to command silence.
"Every one," he called, "except the committee, who are to bind
and tie the medium, will take the place I give him, and remain
in it. Mr. Day will please acquaint Miss Vera and Mrs. Vance
with the fact that we are ready."
Up to this point Vance had appeared only as a stage manager. He
had been concerned with his groupings, his lights, in assigning
to his confederates the parts they were to play. Now that the
curtain was to rise, as an actor puts on a wig and grease paint,
Vance assumed a certain voice and manner. On the stage the
critics would have called him a convincing actor. He made his
audience believe what he believed. He knew the eloquence of a
pause, the value of a surprised, unintelligible exclamation. One
moment he was as professionally solemn as a "funeral director;"
the next, his voice, his whole frame, would shake with
excitement, in an outburst of fanatic fervor.
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