And that
afternoon I went to them.
The leader and principal worker of the men who were about to give a
series of spiritual manifestations in our town was Mr. Corbridge, a man
of middle-age with a large head and earnest visage. When I spoke to him
of Amos Kilbright he was very much annoyed.
"So he has been talking to you," he said, "and after all the warnings I
gave him! Well, he does that sort of thing at his own risk!"
"We all do things at our own risk," I said, "and he has as much right to
choose his line of conduct as anybody else."
"No, he hasn't," said Mr. Corbridge, "he belongs to us, and it is for us
to choose his line of conduct for him."
"That is nonsense," said I. "You have no more right over him than I
have."
"Now then," said Mr. Corbridge, his eyes beginning to sparkle, "I may as
well talk plainly to you. My associates and myself have considered this
matter very carefully. At first we thought that if this fellow should
tell his story we would simply pooh-pooh the whole of it, and let people
think he was a little touched in his mind, which would be so natural a
conclusion that everybody might be expected to come to it. But as we
have determined to dematerialize him, his disappearance would bring
suspicion upon us, and we might get into trouble if he should be
considered a mere commonplace person.
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