“These slips will be all mixed up, of course, and the great sibyl will not know who is Number One or Number Two when she receives these slips. I do not myself know in what order you will be summoned.”
Again Jean drew aside the long curtains. A hoarse whisper issued from the stove-pipe. “The oracle is ready. Let Number Thirty enter.”
This happened to be Jimmy, who sat in the little chair none too comfortably, and had trouble to draw up his knees sufficiently for them to be concealed behind the curtains when Jean drew them in front of him. “Say, Jean, can’t a fellow have any air to breathe?” he asked.
“Plenty coming from the cave,” she replied. “The S. P. string quartette will now render a number while the oracle speaks these secret fates.”
Attention was diverted from the oracle while the “string” quartette was found to consist of Bess with her ukelele, Fran with her guitar, Phoebe with an old banjo, on which she only pretended to play, and Nan with a comb! But ukelele, guitar and Nan’s comb, together with the laughter of the guests, made so much noise that Jimmy stuck his head out from behind the curtains. “Say, the oracle says she can’t make me hear with all that noise.” Jimmy was evidently enjoying himself, if he had been a little hesitant about being the first victim.
The music grew softer immediately, but it was impossible to curb the chatter, and, indeed, if there were any privacy to the fortunes, some distraction outside was necessary.
After the first the fortunes were rapidly told, but in spite of the whispered messages, the boys guessed pretty well who was the chief sibyl, Leigh. It had to be either Leigh or Molly, for there were Jean and the “string” quartette right before them.
“She’s right in that cabinet,” said Danny, coming out with a grin.
“No, she isn’t,” said Jean. “Don’t you know that sibyls only speak from a great distance in some shrine or other?”
“But you wouldn’t say that this is one, would you, to be honest?”