Opposite him, in a patent rocking-chair, was a young woman of some twenty-four or five years. She was a blonde, with pompadoured citron-yellow hair. Her eyes were deep violet, her nose slightly retroussé, giving her a whimsical, almost petulantly juvenile look that was decidedly engaging. She was dressed in black, so fittingly that no man would remember what she wore five minutes after he left her. This attractive creature, for she was indubitably winsome, was Flora Flint, by profession a materializing medium. Her past was prolific in adventure; by her alluring person and the dashing spirit shown in her eyes, her future promised as much as her past.
"Are you busy to-day, Vixley?" she said.
"That's what," said Vixley. "I've got a good graft doped out, and it's liable to be a big thing. First time to-day. One of Gertie Spoll's strikes, and we're working him together. Old man Payson it is."
"Oh, that's the one Doc Masterson expected me to help him with, isn't it?" Flora asked. "I wish you'd let me in on that."
"He ain't in your line, Flo, I expect. Ain't you doin' anything now?"
"Only the regular set, the same old stand-bys, and there's nothing in it at four bits apiece. I've got so many people to pay that even if I get forty or fifty in a circle my expenses eat it all up. Then I have to keep thinking up new stunts and buy props."
"You don't have to spend much on gas," Vixley laughed, as he began washing off his slates.
Flora smiled. "No, but it comes to about the same thing in luminous paint."
"Why don't you make it yourself? It ain't nothin' but ground oyster-shells and sulphur."
"Oh, it ain't only that. I only use the best silk gauze that'll fold up small—that's expensive; then there's a lot of work on the forms."