and hit the table such a resounding bang with his fist that everyone jumped, the doctor most of all.
“I’ve got it! I guess, doc, I’d like your medical opinion on the plan I’m about to outline. Say Jane was to cross the herring pond again, and the same thing was to happen. The submarine, the sinking ship, everyone to take to the boats—and so on. Wouldn’t that do the trick? Wouldn’t it give a mighty big bump to her subconscious self, or whatever the jargon is, and start it functioning again right away?”
“A very interesting speculation, Mr. Hersheimmer. In my own opinion, it would be successful. It is unfortunate that there is no chance of the conditions repeating themselves as you suggest.”
“Not by nature, perhaps, doc. But I’m talking about art.”
“Art?”
“Why, yes. What’s the difficulty? Hire a liner—”
“A liner!” murmured Dr. Hall faintly.
“Hire some passengers, hire a submarine—that’s the only difficulty, I guess. Governments are apt to be a bit hidebound over their engines of war. They won’t sell to the first-comer. Still, I guess that can be got over. Ever heard of the word ‘graft,’ sir? Well, graft gets there every time! I reckon that we shan’t really need to fire a torpedo. If everyone hustles round and screams loud enough that the ship is sinking, it ought to be enough for an innocent young girl like Jane. By the time she’s got a life-belt on her, and is being hustled into a boat, with a well-drilled lot of artistes doing the hysterical stunt on deck, why—she ought to be right back where she was in May, 1915. How’s that for the bare outline?”
Dr. Hall looked at Julius. Everything that he was for the moment incapable of saying was eloquent in that look.