“I do wish, Josephine, you would be a little more careful what you say,” said he, lowering his voice as he bent over her. “Please try to remember your—our position here. It is—”
His mild admonition was interrupted by the abrupt return of Joseph Sikes, who, in his excitement, neglected to close not only the sitting-room door but the one opening on to the porch. Mrs. Gooch, as if jumping at the opportunity, sneezed violently and transfixed him with an accusing look.
“Say, Ollie,” burst out Mr. Sikes, “there’s a couple of women out here from that gypsy camp. They claim to be fortune-tellers. What’ll I do about ’em?”
“Fortune-tellers?” cried Mrs. Sage eagerly. “I adore fortune-tellers.”
“Frauds, my dear—unholy frauds,” remonstrated Mr. Sage.
“What do they want, Joe?” inquired Baxter.
“Well, one of ’em wants to tell the baby’s fortune. Says she heard about him a couple of weeks ago and she’s been talking to the stars ever—”
“Good gracious! That proves what a liar she is,” cried Mrs. Grimes.
“Wait a minute,” exclaimed Mr. Sikes. “Hold your horses, Serepty. She says she knowed a couple of weeks ago that he was going to be born to-day, that’s what she says. And if that ain’t reading the future, I’d like to know what it is. Now here’s what she says she can do. She says she can tell exactly what an infant’s future life is going to be if she can get at him before his first two sunrises. Guarantees it.”
“Well, I’m not going to allow any gypsy woman to go nigh that infant. I never saw a gypsy in my life that looked as if she’d ever seen a cake of soap. Send ’em away, Joe.”