“But there is one thing,” broke in the medium’s quiet voice. “Should you ever experience this kind of thing again, I should recommend you not to pray. Just exercise your own individuality; assert yourself; don’t lean on another. You are quite strong enough.”
“You mean—”
“I mean exactly what I say. What is called prayer is really an imaginative concession to weakness. Take the shortcut, rather. Assert your own—your own individuality.”
Laurie changed his attitude. He uncrossed his feet and sat up a little.
“Oh! pray if you want to,” said the medium. “But you must remember, Mr. Baxter, that you are quite an exceptional person. I assure you that you have no conception of your own powers. I must say that I hope you will take the strong line.” (He paused.) “These séances, for instance. Now that you know a little more of the dangers, are you going to turn back?”
His overhung kindly eyes looked out keenly for an instant at the boy’s restless face.
“I don’t know,” said Laurie; “I must think. …”
He got up.
“Look here, Mr. Vincent,” he said, “it seems to me you’re extraordinarily—er—extraordinarily plausible. But I’m even now not quite sure whether I’m not going mad. It’s like a perfectly mad dream—all these things one on the top of the other.”
He paused, looking sharply at the elder man, and away again.
“Yes?”
Laurie began to finger a pencil that lay on the chimney-shelf.