“Here, you!” said another voice. “You’ve got to get out of here. And you’ve got to give up the money you’ve taken. Quick now. We don’t allow any professionals on these grounds.”
The voices were those of Henry P. Cross, Officer of the Day for this day of the Carnival, and Sam Green, Jr., Vice-Chairman of Police, and they were speaking to the wizard.
“Sh!” said the wizard, in a mysterious voice. “It’s all right! Don’t make a fuss. It’s all right!”
“Let me kick him off the grounds!” said Mr. Cross. “All I want is a chance to kick him off the grounds. The cheap professional fakir, sneaking in to get money that ought to go to the Hospital! Let me kick—”
“Now, wait!” said Mr. Green irritably. “We want to make him disgorge first, don’t we? Just keep your head on, Cross. Let me handle this.”
“It’s all right! Don’t make a fuss,” whispered the wizard. “I belong here.”
“You belong nowhere!” shouted Mr. Cross. “You belong here, indeed! Why, you couldn’t tell that to a baby! I guess not! Telling fortunes and putting the cash in your pocket. Don’t the Ladies’ Aid of the Second Baptist Church have the exclusive fortune-telling privilege? Didn’t they put us onto you?”
The Chief turned back.
“What’s up?” he asked.
“Professional,” said Mr. Green. “Some Chicago grafter trying to make money out of our show.”