"
"Yet you are said to be a believer in the possession which the mediums
claim?"
"Certainly," replied Dr. Burge, "and to just this extent:--I do not
doubt the possibility of intercourse between man and the lower grades of
immaterial life, and I am willing to adopt this hypothesis to explain
any occurrence where the facts demand it. That, in rare cases, such may
be the most simple and natural supposition, I readily admit. The
ordinary performances, however, may be accounted for without calling in
god or demon to untie the knot."
I remarked that Mr. Clifton was not to be seen upon the platform.
"He is kept out of the way until the last,--in the Selectmen's Room, as
I am told, and alone."
"I fear all appeal would now be in vain; yet, Sir, I would not have you
spare an effort to awaken him to the peril of his course."
"Let us go to him, then," assented Dr. Burge.
Upon common occasions, the Selectmen's Room failed to suggest any
exceptional character in its occupants. It was a narrow, ill-lighted,
unventilated apartment, bitter with the after-taste of taxes,
prophetically flavorous of taxes yet to be. Stove-accommodation beyond
the criticism of the most fastidious salamander, a liberal sprinkling of
sand with a view to the ruminant necessities of the town-patricians, two
or three stiff armchairs with straws protruding from their well-worn
cushions, intolerant benches for unofficial occupancy,--altogether a
gloomy aggregate result of the diverse ideals of social well-being to be
found among the inhabitants of Foxden.
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