"I am original. Did you ever before witness this performance in a public restaurant?"—making the cards purr.
"I can not say I have,"—amused.
"Well, no more have I!"
"Why, then, do you do it?"—with renewed interest.
"Shall I tell your fortune?"
"Not now. I had much rather you would tell me the meaning of this play."
I leaned toward her and whispered mysteriously: "The truth is, I belong to a secret society, and I was cutting the cards to see whether or not I should blow up the post-office to-night or the police-station. You mustn't tell anybody."
"Oh!" She started back from the table. "You do not look it," she added suddenly.
"I know it; appearances are so deceptive," said I sadly.
Then the old man laughed, and the girl laughed, and I laughed; and I wasn't quite sure that the grave waiter did not crack the ghost of a smile—in relief.