"What, our late governor's?" Kelson cried.
Hamar nodded. "Yes!" he said; "under the very spot where we used to sit. The water's a foot deep in that cellar, and if there are as many toads in the cellars of the other houses in the block, then Sacramento Street has a corner in them. I'm going to be executioner now, so look the other way, Matt!"
Kelson needed no second bidding; and sticking his fingers in his ears, walked to some little distance. When Hamar called him back, the deed was accomplished—the conditions prescribed in the rites had been observed—the tabby was in the saucepan on the fire, and its blood had been besprinkled on each of the seven sectors of the circle.
"We must now take our seats on the ground," Hamar said; "I'd better be in the centre—you, Matt, on the right, and you, Ed, on the left—allowing three clear feet between us."
Hamar showed them how to sit—with legs crossed and arms folded.
For some minutes no one spoke. The wind rustled through the bushes and an owl hooted. Kelson, feeling the night air cold, drew his overcoat tightly around and the others followed suit. Then Curtis said—
"Do you really think there's anything in it, Leon? Aren't we fools to go on wasting our time like this?"
To which Hamar replied: "Shut up! You were frightened enough doing the tests!"
From afar off, away on the shimmering bosom of the bay came the faint hooting of a steamer.
"That's the Oleander!" Kelson murmured.