The company were soon seated about the room, looking curiously at the slumbering medium. Then Donald explained to them that his sleep was an unnatural one, induced by Miss Waring, who had, like the Professor, hypnotic powers. “We propose to prove to you that much that this man has taught is fallacy,” he said. “That which he has claimed to be spirit manifestation is much of it only hypnotic suggestion.” Then at a signal from him Tibby came forward. “Come, Professor!” she said with authority. “You are asleep, very sound asleep, are you not? You cannot open your eyes if you try to, can you?” The man made an evident vain effort to do so. “Now, put out your arm.” The subject obeyed. “Put it down.” Again he obeyed her. “He is all right,” said Donald, biting his mustache nervously. “He will dance if you tell him to.” “Come, these people have come here to see you dance, Professor. You know you are a dancing master and can perform in a wonderful manner. Mr. Bartram will whistle a jig for you. Now begin!” Donald gave Tibby a humorous grimace, but he struck up a lively tune, and the Professor, springing to his feet with the agility of a youth, kept time with him in a most ludicrous manner. He flourished, kicked, double-shuffled and pirouetted in the manner of a professional stage minstrel. “That will do now! You are tired,” said Tibby, after the man had continued his exhibition until his audience was convulsed with laughter. “You see,” said Donald, “it was not spirits, but hypnotism, that made Miss McCleary entertain us by waltzing.” “That is true, is it not, Professor?” Tibby asked. “Yes,” he nodded, “it is true.” “Well, I swan!” said Solomon Garrett. “If this don’t beat all creation! Has that man been foolin’ us all this time, or is he dancin’ with spirits himself.” “He is controlled by this lady here. There is nothing supernatural about it,” replied Donald. “She controls him, as he has us, many times, making us see and believe what had no existence. Miss Waring will make him see things not here.” He looked at Tibby. “Professor, Mark Cramer is standing over you with a horse-whip. Look out, he is going to strike you!” The man showed signs of terror, and shrank away from the supposed antagonist. “You had better strike back.” He doubled up his fist and struck back with energy. “There, you have hit him, he is down.” The Professor glared at the floor, smiling with the air of a conquering pugilist. “Here is a piece of candy for him,” said Donald, handing Tibby a piece of balsam-weed. “Yes, here, Professor, you are fond of sweets. Eat this.” The Professor took the stick and bit it, smacking his lips, and chewing it with apparent relish. “What is it?” asked Tibby. “Candy,” he responded. “No, it’s poison,” she said. Immediately his face was distorted and he strove to eject it from his mouth.