“Well, take a cigar and clear up the mystery.”
It seemed a winter’s evening, as the three sat before the fire, the older man in the centre, the younger people on either side, facing each other. Mr. Cabot crossed his legs, and laying his magazine face downward upon his lap, said, “I confess I shall be glad to have the puzzle solved, as it is a little deep for me except on the theory that you are skilful liars. Molly I know to be unpractised in that art, but as for you, Amos, I can only guess what you may conceal under a truthful exterior.”
Amos smiled. “It is something to look honest, and I am glad you can say even that.” Then, after a pause, he leaned back in his chair and, in a voice at first a little constrained, thus began:
“As long ago as I can remember I used to imagine things that were to happen, all sorts of scenes and events that might possibly occur, as most children do, I suppose. But these scenes, or imaginings, were of two kinds: those that required a little effort of my own, and another kind that came with no effort whatever. These last were the most usual, and were sometimes of use as they always came true. That is, they never failed to occur just as I had seen them. While a child this did not surprise me, as I supposed all the rest of the world were just like myself.”
At this point Amos looked over toward Molly and added, with a faint smile, “I know just what your father is thinking. He is regretting that an otherwise healthy young man should develop such lamentable symptoms.”
“Not at all,” said Mr. Cabot. “It is very interesting. Go on.”
She felt annoyed by her father’s calmness. Here was the most extraordinary, the most marvellous thing she had ever encountered, and yet he behaved as if it were a commonplace experience of every-day life. And he must know that Amos was telling the truth! But Amos himself showed no signs of annoyance.
“As I grew older and discovered gradually that none of my friends had this faculty, and that people looked upon it as something uncanny and supernatural, I learned to keep it to myself. I became almost ashamed of the peculiarity and tried by disuse to outgrow it, but such a power is too useful a thing to ignore altogether, and there are times when the temptation is hard to resist. That was the case this afternoon. I expected a friend who was to telegraph me if unable to come, and at half-past two no message had arrived: but being familiar with the customs of the Daleford office I knew there might be a dozen telegrams and I get none the wiser. So, not wishing to drive twelve miles for nothing in such a storm, I yielded to the old temptation and put myself ahead—in spirit of course—and saw the train as it arrived. You can imagine my surprise when the first person to get off was Miss Molly Cabot.”
Her eyes were glowing with excitement. Repressing an exclamation of wonder, she turned toward her father and was astonished, and gently indignant, to find him in the placid enjoyment of his cigar, showing no surprise. Then she asked of Amos, almost in a whisper, for her throat seemed very dry, “What time was it when you saw this?”
“About half-past two.”