"Yes, but greater even than the gift of gab, is the gift of 'con-centration,'" twinkled Jeremiah Long.
"How did you know about that?" demanded Emma, looking her amazement.
"How did I know? My dear young woman, the essence sent out by 'con-centration' is an imponderable quantity—"
"Imponderable?" wondered Miss Dean. "I like that word, and, though I don't know what it means, it sounds good."
"As I was saying, the waves sent out by your 'con-centrating' may have, like the wireless waves, been picked up by my own delicate mental mechanism and—"
"In other words, Miss Dean overshot the mark she aimed at," interjected Hippy.
"Well, something like that, I should say," chuckled the Mystery Man.
"Is there anything you do not know?" wondered Anne Nesbit.
"You are a mighty fortunate man, I should say," declared Hippy. "Think what the result would have been had that 'imponderable quantity' hit you fair and square. Why, it would have blown you to atoms—molecules and—"
"Suppose we change the subject," suggested Grace Harlowe. "Show us your wares, won't you, Mr. Long?"