onfirm one's
interpretation by putting it in the form of a question that can be
answered by "_Yes_" or "_No_."

"Shall I change with Miller?" I asked.

Three brisk taps made affirmative answer.

I exchanged places with Miller, but did not again touch Mrs. Smiley's
hand. Immediately thereafter the sound of soft drumming came from the
piano at a point entirely out of reach of the psychic, and at my request
the drummer kept time to my whistling. After some minutes of this
foolery "the force" left the piano abruptly, as if with a leap, and
dropped to the middle of the table. A light, fumbling noise followed,
and I called out: "Is every hand in the circle accounted for?"

While the members of the group were, in turn, assuring me of this, a
small bell on the table was taken up and rung, and the table itself was
shoved powerfully toward the circle and away from the psychic. I assure
you, my sitters were profoundly interested now, and some of the women
were startled. A sharp, pecking sound came upon the cone. I called
attention to the fact that this took place at least six feet from the
psychic, and a moment later, with intent to detect her in any movement,
I leaned far forward so that my head came close to her breast. I could
not discern the slightest motion; I could not even hear her breathe. All
this, while very impressive to me, was referred by the others to
trickery on Mrs. Smiley's part.

At my request, the drumming on the cone kept time to "Dixey" and "Yankee
Doodle," and at length I said to "the spirit": "You must have liked
topical songs when you were on the earth-plane."

Instantly _the cone was swept violently from the table, and a deep,
jovial, strong whisper came from the horn to me_. "_I do now_," was the
amazing answer.

"Who are you?" I asked.

"_Wilbur Thompson._"

"Oh, it is you, is it? Well, I am glad you've found a voice; I felt
rather helpless up to this moment. Are we sitting right?"

"_All right._"

"What are you going to do for us to-night? Can you raise the table?"

"_I'll try_," he whispered again.

"Are there other 'spirits' here?"

"_Yes; many._"

"Can't 'they' write their names on the pad?"

There was a moment's silence, and then the sound of writing began in the
middle of the table. When this had finished, I said, "Did you succeed?"

Again the cone rose, and another whisper, a fainter voice, answered:
"_Yes, but the writing is very miserable._"

The rest of the sitters were