Amusement Only

"Try! – do! – on me!"

Mr. Pownceby laughed. Mrs. Pratt amused him; and not for the first time either.

"To begin with, we have to sit face to face and stare at each other for ten minutes or a quarter of an hour."

"Come along! Let's begin."

The lady brought forward a couple of chairs and they sat down on them, face to face; and very close together. Opening the pamphlet, Mr. Pownceby searched for further instructions.

"You're not staring at me," remarked the lady.

"Half a minute; I'm looking for what comes next."

"What does it say? Read it aloud."

"After I've stared at you long enough-It doesn't sound civil, does it?"

"Never mind the civility; go on!"

"'After I've stared at you long enough, you begin to feel queer. Then'" – Mr. Pownceby read from the pamphlet, "'Place the thumb of your left hand on the subject's forehead'-you're the subject-'just above the nose, and level with the eyebrows.'" Mrs. Pratt placed her pretty little hand above her pretty little nose to point out the exact spot denoted. Mr. Pownceby read on. "'This is the locality of the Phrenological Organ of Individuality.'"

"Is it?" said Mrs. Pratt in an awe-struck whisper. The reader continued:

"'Rest the ends of your fingers on the top of the subject's head. At the same time take hold of the left hand with your right hand, applying the inside part of your thumb to the middle of the palm of the hand.' I'm punctuating this," interpolated Mr. Pownceby, "as I go on. The man who printed it seems to have had a fount of type containing no other stops but commas. 'The object of this is for the operator to get in contact with two very important nerves that pass in the palm of the hand which are called Ulnar and Median nerves'-I don't know if that's true, or what it means, but it says so here-'with your left hand, still keeping the thumb on the forehead between the eyes, and the fingers resting on the subject's head, which must be inclined slightly back. Say, "Look into my eyes." After gazing in his eyes intently for a few seconds, say in a loud, clear, firm tone of voice, "Close your eyes quite tight." Let him remain a few seconds like this,'-and the trick is done. There's a lot more nonsense to follow, but when you've remained for a few seconds like that you're supposed to be mesmerised, or hypnotised, or whatever they call the thing."

"Really! It sounds quite simple."

"It does-simple folly."

"Hush! You shouldn't speak like that. Perhaps, if you don't believe, you mayn't succeed."

"It says something to that effect in these precious pages."

"Then try to believe. Let us begin."

They began. The lady was preternaturally solemn, but the gentleman was tortured by a desire to smile. He felt that the lady might resent his laughter. Under these circumstances the ten minutes' stare was trying. Mrs. Pratt had sweet blue eyes, which were large and round-the sort of eyes which the average man would not object to stare at for ten minutes or even longer. As the appointed space of time drew to a conclusion even Mr. Pownceby became reconciled to his lot. He placed his left thumb on the lady's forehead above her nose.

"Is that level with my eyebrows?" she inquired. He reproved her.

"I don't think you ought to speak. You destroy the connection."

Mrs. Pratt was dumb. Mr. Pownceby proceeded in accordance with the directions contained in the pamphlet. He rested the tips of his fingers on the top of the lady's head. He took hold of her left hand with his right. He applied the "inside part" of his thumb to the centre of her palm. He said to her:

"Look into my eyes."

She looked into his eyes, her head inclined a little backwards. This part of the proceedings was, so far as the gentleman was concerned, on the whole agreeable. He gazed fixedly into her pretty eyes. Then he added, in a "loud, clear, firm tone of voice":

"Close your eyes quite tight."

She closed her eyes. There was a pause for a few seconds. Remembering the instructions contained in the pamphlet, he proceeded another step:

"You cannot open your eyes," he said. "Your eyes are fast, quite fast."

The pamphlet had it, "Should the subject be very sensitive he will be unable to open them." Apparently the subject, though in this case feminine, was very sensitive. At least Mrs. Pratt kept her eyes shut fast. Mr. Pownceby was a little startled. He removed his touch from her brow and released her hand.

"Mrs. Pratt, are you hypnotised already?" Mrs. Pratt was silent. "Mrs. Pratt, you don't mean you're really hypnotised?" Still silence. He leant forward and stared at the lady, not in the same way he had done before, but quite as fixedly. "By Jove! I believe she is!" He got up from the chair. He glanced at the pamphlet. He wanted to know how to reverse the process-how to bring the lady to again.

"This is a pretty state of things! The thing is not such a swindle as I thought it was. But it's all nonsense. She can't be magnetised, or mesmerised, or hypnotised, or whatever it is. If she is, the thing's as easy as winking. If I'd only known it I'd have been mesmerising people since the days of childhood. Mrs. Pratt!"

But Mrs. Pratt was silent. If she was not "hypnotised," then she was in some condition which was equally curious. She sat back in her chair, with her face turned up to the ceiling, in a state of the most complete quiescence. Something in her appearance struck Mr. Pownceby as even unpleasantly odd. He recommenced searching down the page of the green covered pamphlet for the reversal process. It was beautifully simple.

"In order to release him," the pamphlet said-throughout the writer had taken it for granted that the "subject" would be masculine-"blow a sharp, cold wind from your mouth on his eyes, and say with authority, 'Now you can open them.' Repeat if necessary. It is important to recollect that a cold wind blown from the operator destroys the effect and demagnetises."

One could not but suspect that some subjects might not like this. But its simplicity was charming. If that was all that was necessary, then, so far as Mr. Pownceby was concerned, the whole science of hypnotism was already mastered.

He approached Mrs. Pratt. He bent over her, devoutly hoping that no one might enter the room as he was engaged in doing so. Quite a shock went through him as he advanced his face towards hers, the expression of her countenance was so very much like death. He blew a "cold wind" on her eyes-those pretty blue eyes, whose cerulean hue he had veiled.

"Now you can open them."

The words were spoken with as much "authority" as he could muster in the then agitated state of his mind; but Mrs. Pratt did not open them. The pamphlet said, "Repeat if necessary." Mr. Pownceby repeated. He blew, and he blew. He blew the "cold wind" all out of him, so that the beads of perspiration stood upon his brow, but still the "subject" gave no signs.

"Mrs. Pratt! Mrs. Pratt! I say, Mrs. Pratt, for heaven's sake do look at me!"

All signs of "authority" had gone from him now. But wind and voice alike were ineffectual. Apparently it was easier to hypnotise than to do the other thing. In his trouble Mr. Pownceby told himself that the writer of that pamphlet was-well, untrustworthy. Or else something had gone wrong in the working. But what could it be? He looked at his watch.

"Half-past twelve! I shall have her husband here directly. I imagine that he will make some observations if he finds his wife like this."

Such a contingency was only to be expected. When a man, after long absence from his wife, returns to find a stranger experimenting on her, and she in a "hypnotic" condition, from which the stranger cannot release her, his first feelings towards that stranger are not, in civilised countries, invariably friendly. Mr. Pownceby, when he had blown the "cold wind" all out of him, arrived at a resolution.

"I will tell Doris. I must get her to help me. It is quite certain that, whatever happens, I mustn't let that man come and find me alone with his wife."

It was only the dread of such a catastrophe that brought him to the "sticking-point" of his resolution. Miss Haseltine-christened Doris-was Mr. Pownceby's betrothed. She also was wintering in the hotel with her mamma. Mr. Pownceby was aware, even painfully aware, that the young lady's feelings towards Mrs. Pratt were not of the warmest possible kind. He was equally conscious that her impression was that his feelings were, if anything, too warm. He would rather anything had happened, almost, than that he should have been reduced to the necessity of acquainting Miss Haseltine with the situation he was in. But it was certainly impossible for him to allow the returning husband to come in and find him there, alone with his wife, and she apparently in a chronic hypnotic condition.

So he went in search of the young lady. Of course he found her where he would have least wished to find her-in the drawing-room with the ladies. He had to call her out, and at first she wouldn't come.

But as it would have been impossible for him to tell his tale in the presence of a dozen sharp-eared and sharp-tongued women, he protested that there was something of the utmost importance which he must say to her alone. "Well, what is it?" she asked, directly he had got her outside the door. He perceived that she was not in one of her sentimental moods. Perhaps something in his manner had roused her suspicions.

"Mrs. Pratt has fainted."

"Indeed? What has that to do with me? Let her faint. She looks to me as though she were the sort of person who could faint at pleasure."

"Doris, for goodness' sake hear me out; I want your help. It's through me she's fainted."

"Pray what do you mean?"

"It's-it's this confounded thing." Mr. Pownceby held out the slim, green-covered pamphlet. "You know I told you I'd written for that pamphlet, 'How to Hypnotise.' Well, the thing came this morning; here it is! I've been experimenting on her, and I've not only hypnotised her, but, by George, I can't get her round again."

"A pretty state of things, upon my word."