“Always best to be on the safe side,” said Baxter, with his jolliest laugh. “There are so blamed many gypsy queens running around loose these days that—”
The gypsy silenced him with an imperious gesture. “There is but one true queen of the gypsies. I am the true queen of all the Romanies. And you, Mister, are the father of a noble, handsome son—a prince.”
“Well, by gosh!” exclaimed Mr. Link in astonishment. “That does beat all!”
“Don’t tell me there’s nothing in fortune-telling,” said Mr. Baxter, cackling again. “Come up by the fire, Queen. Warm yourself. And you too, Miss.”
The two women, after a glance at each other, slowly advanced to the stove and held out their hands to the warmth. The younger of the two fastened her gaze upon Mrs. Sage. A covetous light gleamed in her black eyes as she took in the fur coat and the wondrous hat.
“Bring in a couple of chairs from the kitchen, Joe,” ordered the host. “Set down, everybody. Put on a little more coal, will you, Horace? How did you know about me, Queen?” He seemed to expand a little with his own rather vicarious importance.
The gypsy waited impressively until the chairs were produced.
“The stars brought me the news,” she said, and sat down, signaling her companion that it was now permissible for her to do the same. “They make no mistakes. I am the chosen mouthpiece of the stars. I speak only of the things they tell me.”
“Umph!” from Mr. Gooch.
The two women looked at him so piercingly that he turned away, conscious of a most uncomfortable feeling.