There are many well-known ways of slate-writing, and the sleight-of-hand necessary in obtaining the ballots and writing the answers is simple compared with the sort of psychological juggling in which the medium must be an adept. Professor Vixley, however, had no need of any special craft with the old man. Mr. Payson was by no means a skilled observer, and, credulous and desirous of a marvel, was easily hoodwinked by Vixley’s talk. The simplest methods sufficed, and he worked with increasing confidence, preparing his sitter’s mind, till it would be possible for the medium merely to sit at the table and write openly under the supposititious influence of his control. The second experiment terminated with the appearance of the message that Flora Flint had read in the front room, the message signed "Felicia." Mr. Payson read the communication with a frown. "That’s bad," he said, "I’m very sorry to find that this answer isn’t favorable." "What’s the matter?" the Professor asked sympathetically. "Well, you see, I may as well tell you that I’m writing a book, Professor," said Mr. Payson, wiping his spectacles, "and, of course, I am anxious that it should be a success. It seems from this that there is likely to be some trouble about it—I don’t quite understand how." Vixley tipped back in his chair with his hands in his pockets. "I thought you looked like an intellectual-minded man. O’ course, it wan’t my place to ask no questions, but when you come in I sized you up as a party who wan’t entirely devoted to a pure business life. So you’ve written a book, eh? Well, I’m sure my control could help you. I’ll ask him, and see what’s to be done. But for that, I think we’ll be more liable to be successful at automatic writin’ than by independent slate-writin’. It’s more quicker and satisfactory all round." "How do you suppose the spirits can help?" said Mr. Payson.