“No!”
“Sure as you’re born. Keep perfectly still. I’ll apply the influence—I’ll turn on all my force. I’ve brought It thus far—I’ll fetch It right into the house. You’ll see.”
He was making all sorts of passes in the air with his hands.
“There! Look at that. I’ve made It smile! See?”
Quite true. Tracy, out for an afternoon stroll, had come unexpectantly upon his family arms displayed upon this shabby house-front. The hatchments made him smile; which was nothing, they had made the neighborhood cats do that.
“Look, Hawkins, look! I’m drawing It over!”
“You’re drawing it sure, Rossmore. If I ever had any doubts about materialization, they’re gone, now, and gone for good. Oh, this is a joyful day!”
Tracy was sauntering over to read the door-plate. Before he was half way over he was saying to himself, “Why, manifestly these are the American Claimant’s quarters.”
“It’s coming—coming right along. I’ll slide, down and pull It in. You follow after me.”
Sellers, pale and a good deal agitated, opened the door and confronted Tracy. The old man could not at once get his voice: then he pumped out a scattering and hardly coherent salutation, and followed it with—