“That’s cheap enough,” nodded Jack. “Here is your fourth part of an honest American dollar. Now, go ahead and tell me lots of lovely things.”
The old woman’s eyes were fastened on Bart.
“Let me tell his fortune first,” she urged.
“Nonsense!” exclaimed Hodge. “I do not care for it.”
“It’s a mash, old man,” chuckled Ready. “You’ve hit her hard, my boy. If you don’t submit to her demands, I’ll tell the gang about your mash. Put up your fin and let the fair lady read your palm. Come on.”
He playfully grasped Bart’s wrist and held up his hand for the old fortune-teller to examine.
Not wishing to appear grouty, Hodge submitted.
The old woman firmly grasped the back of Bart’s hand, over which she bent, mumbling something. Then of a sudden she poured from a small vial something upon Hodge’s hand that immediately began to smart and burn like fire.
Bart gave an exclamation of surprise and anger, snatching his hand away. The old woman flung aside the vial.
“It’s the oil of success!” she cried. “Hereafter you will succeed in everything you undertake.”