Part 7
Onset’s hands amused the Doctor greatly. He found vitality much stronger than he had expected, but much less vivid characteristics of health:--color thin, action weak; texture smooth, fingers pointed; palm hollow and much crossed; groups of little lines on certain mounts (versatility); a fine development of a certain part of the hand (imagination, Mount Luna); thumb lacking in force of will, just the opposite to Mrs. Thorn; in fact, a number of details which in combination might be read several ways, but invariably showing marked susceptibility to fleeting impressions, mental-sensitiveness,--an active mind yet unstable characteristics, a liability to vagaries of some sort;--the natural tendencies of the individual also suggested in certain directions,--but let that pass.
Yes. Onset’s hands were amusing. The Doctor would not assert that the man was actually hipped then and there, but there was ample chance that he should be if circumstances led that way, the conditions favorable. He was just such a patient as Mrs. Thorn might succeed in curing. And then came the gist of the whole situation:
If Mrs. Thorn, why not anyone else? provided a counter-impression was given, vivid and forcible enough to convince the patient _in spite of himself_.
That afternoon found the Doctor, Miss Winchester, Adele and Paul, putting their heads together, mysteriously cogitating; evidently a plot on hand to give Mr. Onset another new idea.
“It can do no harm and may do the poor fellow some good,” whispered the optimistic Doctor. “Adele, your father will find it out soon enough himself, so we needn’t bother him just yet. In case of a rumpus the Professor will be just the one to fall back upon. He told me to go to the marines; we’ll make him our guardian angel,--our marine.”
Adele, laughing, wondered how angelic her father would appear acting as a marine.
“Remember!” whispered the Doctor, “all at your stations when the invalid is brought down to his state-room to retire at nine o’clock this evening,--now don’t forget. You see we’ve got to catch an idea before it gets away from us,--quick work;” and the chief conspirator bustled off to find Onset.
“There’s nothing like having a patient toned up previous to an operation,” said the Doctor, musing. “If we can succeed in directing the mind previously, and put him in a proper mood to receive the impression, the work will be well under way before he himself is aware of it. Mrs. Thorn seems quite an adept at preliminary work,--correct, but the preliminaries may reasonably include a counter-irritant. If we can produce premonitory suggestions leading up to an idea, the impression will have a better chance to operate, the idea to cure in its own way.”
“How are you this afternoon, Mr. Onset?” and he took a seat near the invalid.
“Not much encouraged. No doubt Mrs. Thorn is thinking the thing out in her room;--can’t say I feel any worse, and that may be her doings; but really this arm and leg are still so helpless that possibly when I retire to-night I ought to remain in my berth to give her a better chance.”
“Not if I know it,” thought the Doctor; then audibly, “Would you oblige me by attempting to stand up, if only on one foot, and allow me to support your weak side,--just for the effort?”
“It’s no use, my dear sir, not the slightest; I can’t move, for the life of me. I only wish I could.”
“Then let me roll your chair for a turn or two,” and without waiting for a reply he gently moved Onset to a place where both could observe some steam issuing from an aperture.
“What complicated machinery!” remarked the Doctor. “This ship must be a network of pipes, steam here at the side, and also from the top of the funnel, no doubt both connected with the boilers--boilers and live steam, live boilers and steam everywhere! Fortunately, explosions seldom occur.”
“What terrible things accidents must be,” quoth Onset, evidently interested and nervous; “terrible when one is helpless.”
“Sometimes not fatal,” quoth the dismal-cheerful Doctor; “it frequently depends upon one’s own exertions at the critical moment. I was myself once in a collision of passenger trains, our car turned upside down--thrown twenty feet. I lit head-foremost in one of those overhead parcel baskets which had been above my seat and was now below. Fortunately, I was able to pick himself up by the seat of another fellow’s breeches, and scrambled out through a window. If I hadn’t scrambled out that window I should certainly have been burnt alive!”
“Heavens!” exclaimed Onset, “there’s not even a window on this ship downstairs to crawl through. I should never get my leg through a port-hole, and probably be caught head out and legs in. Do you think there’s any danger, Doctor?”
“Well, there’s a good deal of live steam under high pressure about here; I really don’t know much about steam-fitters’ work, but if it were plumbing I should certainly say, yes. Thank fortune, it is not plumbing, Mr. Onset.”
“But it is steam-fitting,” quoth Onset, now becoming positive, his mental process very inconsequent, as with many of his type. “Now, Doctor, I’d like to ask you just one question, seriously you know, strictly private. I ought not to ask it but I really must, under the circumstances. Mrs. Thorn has told me considerable about vibrations; now any fool can see that vibrations are not good for steam pipes, yet here we are. Now tell me frankly, do you think Mrs. Thorn’s meditations can affect or be affected by all this around us. She told me, most positively, that her meditations vibrating to me must not leak out---- Oh I wish she would accelerate a little if any good is to come of it.”
The Doctor at once made a plunge for his handkerchief, and blew his nose, enough to create more vibrations; then,
“Well, Mr. Onset, your perspicacity is remarkable; I never met anyone who detected possibilities, aye, even probabilities, more quickly than you do.” Onset felt flattered, the Doctor gave him time to pat himself on the back, and then,
“But there’s nothing like having one’s mind prepared for emergencies. If anything should happen, why, just call on me, Mr. Onset. Fact is, I’m now so accustomed to accidents both mental and physical that when not killed in the first crash I generally pull through.”
“Thanks awfully, I certainly shall. Doctor, my man James is good enough in ordinary emergencies, but I doubt his use in accidents. James! Jamie! here, Jimmy! take me back where I won’t see this steam, the odor and its suggestions are both unpleasant. Good-bye, Doctor, I must now take a rest.”
Onset’s organs of speech were certainly all right, but his mental apparatus decidedly leaky, and something the matter with his legs.
“I trust the preliminary tonic may not lose its effect before nine P. M.,” mused the Doctor as he went to report to the other conspirators.
XII
AMATEUR TACTICS--A FRIGHTFUL CURE
Dinner served, the conspirators enjoyed a promenade on deck, keeping an eye upon Mr. Onset and Mrs. Thorn as they sat conversing. No doubt vibrations were at work, the most approved methods of the wonderful Mystic Department of the Sanitorium Universitasque making some sort of an impression; because, as Mrs. Thorn remarked afterwards, “Mr. Onset was already oscillating between the old and the new, and whenever that condition arose she felt sure that the preliminary tendencies of the occult influences towards a cure were already taking effect.” Mrs. Thorn could be quite as perspicacious as the Doctor when she chose, her theories decidedly new as well as lucid, in fact unique.
At last James appeared, to take the patient to his state-room; this was the signal for the Doctor’s party to fly to their stations. The rolling chair was brought to one of the narrow gangways leading directly to Mr. Onset’s quarters below; the passage entered through a door at the top, the short flight of steps down closed by partitions on either side. The chief conspirator noticed that when James went off with the patient Professor Cultus was engaged in conversation with Mrs. Thorn; evidently one of those curious coincidences most opportune, which occult influences often exert in favor of the one conspired against. “Good!” exclaimed the Doctor. “I now know where our marine-angel is to be found when I want him; now for an impression less occult.”
When James reached the head of the gangway, there stood the Doctor, apparently by accident; and of course he offered to assist in carrying the invalid down the steps. Onset appeared more helpless than usual when, the Doctor supporting his shoulders and James his feet, the trio began to descend. If ever a subject for treatment had weak legs, it was Onset at that moment.
All progressed favorably until they reached the bottom, and were about to make the turn into the state-room passage; “Look out for that awkward corner, James.”
“All right, sir! Keep his head up, I’ll take his feet round first.”
“Go ahead!” exclaimed the Doctor. (The signal.)
No sooner said than a brilliant flash of light burst forth, a little way ahead down the passage, accompanied by a hissing noise not unlike an explosion.
Onset gave a start. “What’s that? Look there! Oh, Lord!” replied to by shrieks from female voices, and a cloud of white smoke with pungent odor. In an instant the passage seemed filled with frightened voices and smoke.
It was merely some of Paul’s photographic flash-light powder, accompanied by very realistic exclamations in consequence, but in such close quarters it seemed much more serious.
“God help us!” cried Jimmy, dropping Onset’s legs and turning around to discover what had happened. Through the smoke he saw Paul violently beating back flames which came from one of the cross-passages.
It was only Miss Winchester and Adele, invisible behind the angle, holding at arm’s length some burning paper upon a plate, but quite enough for faithful James. Seizing Onset by the ankles he would probably have dragged him on deck feet foremost if the Doctor had not ordered him in sharp tones:
“Keep your head, man! Don’t yell! I’ll attend to this! Go find Professor Cultus near the head of the gangway, quick! Don’t yell! It’s bad enough as it is!”
The last remark settled Jimmy; he vanished up the steps, and Onset groaned at the thought of being caught helpless below decks.
“Now,” said the Doctor, quickly turning to the patient, “we’ve got to hustle--it looks like an explosion, near by!--before a panic seizes the passengers.” Poor Onset, in the narrow passage lit by the flames, seized the Doctor with a grip of terrible fright, his well arm jerking the Doctor as if he had a spasm. “For God’s sake, don’t leave me!”
“I don’t intend to, I’ll stick by you,” said the arch conspirator, “but you must make an effort, too,” and he lifted the fellow upon his feet.
At this instant, down the steps came Professor Cultus and, by another prearranged “coincidence” to which he was not a party, the door above closed behind him.
Darkness indeed. The place might prove a veritable death-trap, surely, so thought Onset.
“What mischief are you up to?” exclaimed the Professor, serious in tone, but his countenance (which none could see) somewhat suspicious if not humorous.
“Lend a hand!” cried the Doctor, and then in a whisper, “I’m trying to get an idea into this chap’s legs---- Sh!”
Professor Cultus took hold of Onset’s opposite shoulder, and together they turned him around, moved him in an upright position towards the steps. He seemed indeed helpless, but his eye was now fixed toward that gangway, the way to escape. To get there and escape was the only thought potent in his mind. The Doctor turned and again nodded to Paul. Off went another flash-explosion, more pungent smoke, the sort of choking fumes that scare you off. This time nearer, the vivid light and more excited screams seemed hardly ten feet away.
Onset gave a plunge with his well leg, and would certainly have fallen flat but for his strong support.
“Now for it, Onset,” urged the Doctor, lifting the limp limb, assisting to put it on the next step. Professor Cultus nodded and took the weight.
“Now for another step!” urged the Doctor. Onset put his well leg up by his own effort, but when the Doctor helped the other to follow he noticed a change for the better, the paralyzed limb was not quite such a non-active member as before. Onset’s fright and desire to escape were getting their hold on him in spite of himself, his legs asserting and maintaining themselves without his realizing the fact that paralyzed legs should not be able to behave that way.
The critical moment was approaching, the crucial test, the final effort to force Onset to put forth his whole strength spontaneously as for his life. The closed door above made the passage still darker at the top, the smoke from behind made the atmosphere more oppressive each moment. “Only three more steps,” exclaimed the Doctor, “to burst through that door or be suffocated.” Onset heard this. The Doctor pressed his elbow against Professor Cultus to signal he was now ready. The Professor gradually lessened his support, and then quietly let go, slipping behind him to catch the man if he fell.
Nothing of the kind occurred. Onset was so frantically determined to get out that he stood supported on one side only without realizing the fact, both legs commencing to work together. Almost alone he managed to force himself higher. Seizing the auspicious moment the Doctor gave Paul the final signal. Flash! hiss-s-s-s-s! red lights, jumping shadows; cries, more jumps; something yellow--ghastly! “Rush for your life!” Onset and the infernal regions close behind him, at the foot of the steps!
Paul had prolonged the agony by some red-burning powder from one of the ship’s signal lights. Miss Winchester waving a sheet of yellow glass from Paul’s photographic lantern before her portable flames--great effect! Screams certainly diabolical; one could hear the wild laughter amid the cries. At such close quarters none could stand the racket a moment longer. Professor Cultus, in the thick of the fumes, was the first to protest. “Open that door! open I tell you, we’ll be smothered!” which was a fact. Onset in a spasm of despair, “Let me out! Let me out!” Miss Winchester, also spasmodic, “I’m getting roasted--fried!” Adele, “I _am_ roasted!”
Onset never knew the exact moment when the Doctor left him standing alone; all he realized was the bursting open of the door, the flood of electric light--it seemed like daylight--and the Doctor above offering his hand to assist, the hand not quite within reach, an effort necessary to reach it; all depended upon the invalid’s own effort.
Without a thought but to escape, Onset started up those remaining steps as one flying for his life, forgetful of weak legs, paralysis, or any other incumbrance. Actuated by the mental and spiritual impulse towards self-preservation he plunged through the opening out upon the deck. Thoroughly scared by a vivid realization of things as they were, his previous hysteria which had clouded the mind vanished before a more potent impression which cleared his mental atmosphere, vanquished by a forced acceptance of the actual facts--he was not paralyzed.
The Doctor steadied him an instant; only a moment of assistance was necessary, until he realized himself standing without support. Dazed and frightened, choking from the fumes, while those who followed made an uproar of coughs and laughter, the poor fellow could not take in the situation at a glance. No one seemed excited, however, about any explosion; all interest seemed centered in himself, congratulations from everybody, Mrs. Cultus in particular.
“Why, Mr. Onset! I’m delighted to see you looking so well” (social fib; Onset looked like an escaped lunatic), “and able to walk” (conversational stretch), “cured” (perhaps), “and quite like yourself again” (since when?).
Not until Onset heard these highly appropriate congratulations did the whole situation dawn upon him. Yes, he had escaped by his own unaided efforts at the last, and of course it was too ridiculously evident to be denied that he was then and there standing alone. The very thought was paralyzing to the former impression that he could not stand. And behold the power of a new lively idea, affecting matter as well as mind--instead of melancholy Onset and an old scared impression, behold Onset smiling in spite of himself. Everybody thought he was going to make a speech. He did.
“Ho there, Jimmy! James, where are you?--Jim!”
Now, James had been in a terrible quandary during all the latter part of these proceedings. After Professor Cultus had descended, at his request, James had been confronted by Mrs. Cultus, who calmly moved her seat directly in front of the passageway and with apparent carelessness closed the door. She had moved not an inch until just in time for the Doctor to make his exit, followed by the demoralized Onset. It was Mrs. Cultus who had amused herself by giving her impressions as to the vibrating Jimmy, keeping him there until the proper time came. The valet was as much surprised as the master when he saw the melancholy Onset rise to the surface in a cloud of smoke and then favor the company with a smile. He received a further new impression when Onset remarked:
“We’ll clear the deck, Jimmy; I go it alone.”
* * * * *
Would Onset remain cured? Could a man so unstable in legs, mode of thought, and possibly character, remain steadfast? Adele was the first to ask herself this question.
XIII
ADELE’S MEDITATIONS
Nothing succeeds like success. The Doctor’s party had broken so many of the ship’s rules, by igniting flash-powder and burning paper below decks, that a lively time was expected when they were called upon to explain matters. No real harm had, however, been done to the vessel; no more than if they had taken a flash-light picture after dark. A few good fees to the stewards and a draft of fresh air through the passage soon cleared the atmosphere. When the officers put in an appearance to make an examination, merely the fragrance from some pastilles which Miss Winchester thoughtfully used to overcome the odor from charred paper was noticeable, and every one was talking about the paralytic who had rushed up the gangway in a state of terror.
Onset’s cure became the general topic of conversation on board, and forty people had forty differences of opinion as to what had happened and the propriety of such proceedings. Adele had taken only a minor part, but after it was over came a reaction which made her very thoughtful:
“Onset must be very weak, weak in mind as well as body; something must be wanting in his make-up. I don’t believe that any one with real strength of character could be cured exactly as he was; and what’s more, I don’t believe he is cured.”
Then she mused more comprehensively, and being a well-educated girl at once sought for the most notable example she could recall of the antithesis of this weakness. Her thoughts had been much on serious matters since her meditations in the Park and her previous talk with her Father. “What is it this man lacks?--strength of character, force of character? What is that?
“Well, it strikes me most impressively in one particular personality--historical; and in Him so strong that you feel this strength to-day precisely as if He were yet alive. He told the weak to take up their beds and walk, and they obeyed--really weak legs walked. There was something wonderful about such a character and the cures He made. He certainly had a force which never failed, and the patients were permanently better through and through, mental as well as physical--a deepening of the whole character. He seems to me the only perfect practitioner of healing ever known, and the first great Psychologist, and although living so long ago is modern yet. He seems like one who had then conquered even Science itself.”
Adele then sought the opposition to her own view, her college training having taught her to reason in that way.
“I never heard any one say that the Historic Christ lacked in force of character. Let me think! Yes, I did, too--once; and curiously enough it was a Jewish Rabbi disparaging the greatest historic character of the chosen people. He insisted that Christ was ‘deluded,’ and deluded forsooth in direct consequence of His own good thoughts and actions. Now, how could a Personality setting the most notable example of force and power be deluded like an ordinary man or self-constituted critic? As to the ancient golden rule, known so well to Confucius in Chinese form, and the Lord’s Prayer, also possibly known in some form to the Rabbi Hillel in Hebrew fashion previously, were they not each shown by Christ Himself in a manner far more potent to all men, each after his kind?--I might say acceptable to all creation in a way never dreamed of by either Confucius or Hillel. Don’t tell me that such a character could be deluded. If such was the case, then truth itself in character is a delusion, and expediency takes its place. All sciences and religions know better, all creation knows better, all except the few who delude themselves in order to bolster up a previous impression as to character to which they feel committed. Don’t tell me that the greatest Hebrew who ever lived, great because He developed force and strength of character in civilizations strong unto this day, was deluded! That is illogical and unsound, intellect misused, the twaddle of criticism.”
Thus Adele, the young modern educated girl, free to think of truth as she saw it, decided this question for herself, and put the result of her meditations away in her mental storehouse, little realizing how soon she would have occasion to congratulate herself upon having crystallized her views on this weighty subject.
“I’m glad,” she said inwardly, “I’m glad Christianity is founded upon Christ’s personality still alive, His own words and deeds still active, and not upon what other people, ancient or modern, say about Him.”
* * * * *
Adele went to join her mother, and found Mrs. Thorn already in evidence. The latter had indeed found her curative vibrations somewhat counteracted by events due to others also meditating more actively than she. And Mrs. Thorn showed much worldly wisdom and tact in saying very little about it; simply remarking that “Mr. Onset was already in a fair way to recovery when the accident happened. Indeed, Mrs. Cultus, I feel quite confident I should have cured him with much less fuss about it.”
This latter remark was made as they sat in the same vicinity on deck enjoying the air, the day following. Much to their surprise some one answered promptly:
“I’m sure I should.”
XIV
ANOTHER COMMOTION--RELIGIOUS-CURATIVE
“Will that you won’t be sick, and you won’t be,” quoth a volunteer adviser.
“It’s my will itself that is sick,” replied a real sufferer.
“I’m sure I should.”
Mrs. Cultus turned quickly, to find the speaker, a placid-looking person, sitting near, presumably a lady, yet who had evidently been eavesdropping. A person of matronly aspect, whose voice and expression suggested a desire to tell others something that might be of benefit to them. Not at all one whose appearance suggested mysticism in any degree; on the contrary rather ingenuous, consequently a surprise to all present when she launched at them the following dogmatic statements:
“The practice of healing, of course I mean metaphysical healing, is based upon certain ethical and religious principles, because we know that mind holds utter control over matter.”
Mrs. Cultus, at first taken aback, then much amused, replied promptly: “Mind over matter! well, I should hope so. But it strikes me mind often controls matter better than it controls itself--h’m!” and Mrs. Cultus gave a little cough, as if the very idea had produced “something-the-matter” in her own anatomy.