Raspberry Jam

“Now,” she exclaimed; “no one can ever doubt the fact of telepathy after this! How else could that young man have done what he has done. Answer me that!”

“It’s all a fake,” asserted Hendricks, “but I’m ready to acknowledge I don’t know how it’s done. It’s the best game I ever saw put up, and I’d like to know how he does it.”

“Seems to me,” put in Eunice, a little dryly, “one oughtn’t to insist that it is a fake unless one has some notion, at least, of how it could be done. If the man could see—could even peep—there might be a chance for trickery. But with those thick cotton pads on his eyes and then covered with that big, thick, folded silk handkerchief—it’s really a muffle-there’s no chance for his faking.”

“And if he could see—if his eyes were wide open—how would he know where to go?” demanded Aunt Abby. “That blindfolding is only so he can’t see Mr. Mortimer’s face, if he turns round, and judge from its expression. And also, I daresay, to help him concentrate his mind, and not be diverted or distracted by the crowd and all.”

“All the same, I don’t believe in it,” and Hendricks shook his head obstinately. “There is no such thing as telepathy, and this ‘willing’ business has all been exposed years ago.”

“I remember,” and Aunt Abby nodded; “you mean that Bishop man and all that. But this affair it quite different. You don’t believe Mr. Mortimer was a party to deceit, do you?”

“No, I don’t. Mortimer is a judge and a most honest man, besides. He wouldn’t stoop to trickery in a thing of this sort. But he has been himself deceived.”

“Then how was it done?” cried Eunice, triumphantly; “for no one else knew where the knife was hidden, except that newspaper man who hid it, and he was sincere, of course, or there’d be no sense in the whole thing.”

“I know that. Yes, the newspaper people were hoodwinked, too.”

“Then what happened?” Eunice persisted. “There’s no possible explanation but telepathy. Is there, now?”

“I don’t know of any,” Hendricks was forced to admit. “After the excitement blows over a little, I’ll try to speak with Mortimer again. I’d like to know his opinion.”

They sat in the car, looking at the hilarious crowds of people, most of whom seemed imbued with a wild desire to get to the hero of the hour and demand his secret.

“There’s a man who looks like Tom Meredith,” said Eunice, suddenly. “By the way, Alvord, where do the Merediths stand in the matter of the club election?”

“Which of them?”

“Either—or both. I suppose they’re on your side—they never seemed to like Sanford much.”

“My dear Eunice, don’t be so narrow-minded. Club men don’t vote one way or another because of a personal like or dislike—they consider the good of the club—the welfare of the organization.”

“Well, then, which side do they favor as being for the good of the club?”

“Ask Sanford.”

“Oh—if you don’t want to tell me.”

Eunice looked provokingly pretty and her piquant face showed a petulant expression as she turned it to Hendricks.

“Smile on me again and I’ll tell you anything you want to know: if I know it myself.”

A dazzling smile answered this speech, and Hendricks’ gaze softened as he watched her.

“But you’ll have to ask me something else, for, alas, the brothers Meredith haven’t made a confidant of me.”

“Story-teller” and Eunice’s dark eyes assumed the look of a roguish little girl. “You can’t fool me, Alvord; now tell me, and I’ll invite you in to tea when we get home.”

“I’m going in, anyway.”

“Not unless you tell me what I ask. Why won’t you? Is it a secret? Pooh! I’d just as lief ask Mr. Tom Meredith myself, if I could see him. Never mind, don’t tell me, if you don’t want to. You’re not my only confidential friend; there are others.”

“Who are they, Euny? I flattered myself I was your only really, truly intimate friend—not even excepting your husband!”

“Oh, what a naughty speech! If you weren’t Sanford’s very good friend, I’d never speak to you again!”

“I don’t see how you two men can be friends,” put in Aunt Abby, “when you’re both after that same presidency.”

“That’s the answer!” Eunice laughed. “Alvord is San’s greatest friend, because it’s going to be an easy thing for Sanford to win the election from him! If there were a more popular candidate in Alvord’s place, or a less popular one in Sanford’s place, it wouldn’t be such a walkover!”

“You—you—” Hendricks looked at Eunice in speechless admiration. The dancing eyes were impudent, the red lips curved scornfully, and she made a daring little moue at him as she readjusted her black lace veil so that a heavy bit of its pattern covered her mouth.

“What do you do that for? Move that darned flower, so I can see you talk!”

She laughed then, and wrinkled her straight little nose until the veil billowed mischievously.

“I wish you’d take that thing off,” Hendricks said, irritatedly; “it annoys me.”

“And pray, sir, who are you, that I should shield you from annoyance? My veil is a necessary part of my costume.”

“Necessary nothing! Take it off, I tell you!”

“Merry Christmas!” and Eunice gave him such a scornful shrug of her furred shoulders that Hendricks laughed out, in sheer enjoyment of her audacity.

“Tell me about the Merediths, and I’ll take off the offending veil,” she urged, looking at him very coaxingly.

“All right; off with it.”

Slowly, and with careful deliberation, Eunice unpinned her veil, took it off and folded it in a small, compact parcel. This she put in her handbag, and then, with an adorable smile, said: “Now!”

“You beautiful idiot,” and Hendricks devoured her with his eyes. “All I can tell you about the Merediths is, that I don’t know anything about their stand on the election.”

“What do you guess, assume, surmise, imagine or predict?” she teased, still fascinating him with her magnetic charm.

“Well, I think this: they’re a little too old-timey to take up all my projects. But, on the other hand, they’re far from willing to subscribe to your husband’s views. They do not approve of the Sunday-school atmosphere he wants to bring about, nor do they shut their eyes to the fact that the younger element must be considered.”

“Younger element! Do you call Sanford old?”

“No; he’s only twenty-eight this minute. But there are a lot of new members even younger than that strange as it may seem! These boys want gayety—yea, even unto the scorned movies and the hilarious prize-fights—and as they are scions of the wealthy and aristocratic families of our little old town, I think we should consider them. And, since you insist on knowing, it is my firm belief, conviction and—I’m willing to add—my hope that the great and influential Meredith brothers agree with me! So there now, Madam Sanford Embury!”

“Thank you, Alvord; you’re clear, at least. Do you think I could persuade them to come over to Sanford’s side?”

“I think you could persuade the statue of Jupiter Ammon to climb down from his pedestal and take you to Coney Island, if you looked at him like that! But I also think that friend husband will not consent to your electioneering for him. It isn’t done, my dear Eunice.”

“As if I cared what is ‘done’ and what isn’t, if I want to help Sanford.”

“Go ahead, then, fair lady; but remember that Sanford Embury stands for the conservative element in our club, and anything you might try to do by virtue of your blandishments or fascinations would be frowned upon and would react against your cause instead of for it. If I might suggest, my supporters, the younger set, the—well—the gayer set, would more readily respond to such a plan. Why don’t you electioneer for me?”

Eunice disdained to reply, and Aunt Abby broke into the discussion by exclaiming: “Oh, Alvord, here comes Mr. Mortimer, and he has Mr. Hanlon with him!”