"That's a good idea. I'll do it. D'you know what year it was?"
"1877."
"How d'you know?"
He walked away from her carelessly, replying: "That's the idea I got of it. About that time."
"Frank," she said, "ain't you ever got any clue to who you are, yet? Never got any hint at all?"
"Never."
"Why don't you go to some real sure-enough psychic? They might help. I've known 'em to do wonderful things."
Granthope gazed at her and laughed loud. "You?" was all he could say.
She drew herself up. "Yes, me! Sure. Why, you don't think I consider they ain't no genuine ones, even if I do fake a little, do you?"
"You actually believe there's a medium alive that can tell such things?"