"How does she work, now? From the front seats?"
"No, mostly through the foldin' doors. As soon as the room is dark and the singin' has commenced she has the door rolled back the wrong way about a foot, and her players come in that way. They don't show against the black cloth, and they's no danger at all, for if anybody wants to examine the cabinet they ain't no panels nor nothing to be exposed. Flora's just got up a grand disappearance act, she tells me. She wears a white petticoat and her overskirt is lined with white. When she comes out of the cabinet her skirt is lifted up and wrapped round her head inside-out, as natural as life. Then she gradually lowers it and the whole form slowly disappears down to the ground like a snow-man meltin' in the sun. No, sir, you can't beat that girl, not in this town!"
"Vixley, I don't see no end to this graft. Why, after we've materialized we can etherealize, can't we?"
"Yes, and then we'll develop him till he don't know where he's at."
"And spirit-pictures, too. Felicia'll take a grand photograph!"
"You bet. I'm going to try them big cloth ones that you spray with prussiate o' potash. You can get blue, yeller, and brown fine. I been workin' on it already."
A ring at the front door-bell interrupted her colloquy. Vixley tiptoed to the window and peeped out; then he turned with a scowl.
"It's Doc Masterson. What the devil does he want, anyway?"
"No good, I'll bet," she replied.
"I got to let him in, I s'pose. It won't do to send him away, the old snake-in-the-grass. He's too smooth!"