“We have seen something of palmistry in our wanderings, and know very well what astonishing things it can do. If it isn’t a science, and one of the greatest of them, too, I don’t know what its other name ought to be. In the Orient—”
Tom looked surprised and incredulous. He said—
“That juggling a science? But really, you ain’t serious, are you?”
“Yes, entirely so. Four years ago we had our hands read out to us as if our palms had been covered with print.”
“Well, do you mean to say there was actually anything in it?” asked Tom, his incredulity beginning to weaken a little.
“There was this much in it,” said Angelo: “what was told us of our characters was minutely exact—we could not have bettered it ourselves. Next, two or three memorable things that had happened to us were laid bare—things which no one present but ourselves could have known about.”
“Why, it’s rank sorcery!” exclaimed Tom, who was now becoming very much interested. “And how did they make out with what was going to happen to you in the future?”
“On the whole, quite fairly,” said Luigi. “Two or three of the most striking things foretold have happened since; much the most striking one of all happened within that same year. Some of the minor prophecies have come true; some of the minor and some of the major ones have not been fulfilled yet, and of course may never be: still, I should be more surprised if they failed to arrive than if they didn’t.”
Tom was entirely sobered, and profoundly impressed. He said, apologetically—
“Dave, I wasn’t meaning to belittle that science; I was only chaffing—chattering, I reckon I’d better say. I wish you would look at their palms. Come, won’t you?”