But Baxter, ignoring him, dropped a dollar into the hat, an act of vanity which drew from Mrs. Grimes a little squeak of dismay.
“Goodness, Oliver Baxter! The child’s got to have clothes.”
“How do you know it has to have clothes?” demanded Baxter. “Wait till the queen gets through telling what’s going to happen to him before you go to prophesying on your own account.”
“I wish I’d put you to bed when I started to awhile ago,” was her retort.
Mrs. Gooch, who had been a silent and disapproving witness to all this prodigality, piped up: “I was fool enough to have my fortune told at the county fair once. By a trained canary bird. For ten cents only.”
“You never told me about it, Ida,” said Mr. Gooch sourly.
Sikes turned the money over to Baxter. “Cross her palm with it, Ollie,” said he.
“What guarantee is there that we get our money’s worth?” demanded Mr. Gooch, crinkling his eyes a little as he listened to the jingle of the coins which Baxter shifted noisily from one hand to the other while Sikes was arranging the chairs in a semi-circle about the central figures.
The “queen” looked hard at the speaker. “We all come into the world by chance, Mister,” she said. “We exist by chance and we are destroyed by chance. The child’s future depends on chance. I can give no guarantee. Who shall say whether I speak truly or falsely until time has given its testimony?”
“A remarkably clever woman,” murmured Mr. Sage, as he seated himself.