Even Mrs. Weems was somewhat startled by the seamstress’ calm assumption that her thoughts had been responsible for the inheritance.
“Don’t you see,” Mrs. Hodges resumed patiently. “It must mean that I have great psychic powers. I confess I am rather frightened.”
Penny arose and began to button her raincoat.
“Excuse me for saying it,” she remarked, “but if I were you, Mrs. Hodges, I’d spend the six dollars and forget the entire affair. Someone must have played a joke on you!”
“A joke!” The seamstress was offended. “People don’t give away money as a joke.”
“No, these days they squeeze the eagles until they holler,” chuckled Mr. Hodges.
“The letter was postmarked New York City,” went on his wife. “We don’t know a soul there. Oh, no one ever can make me believe that it was done as a joke. The letter was mailed at exactly the hour we heard the six raps!”
“And there wasn’t a sign of anyone near the house,” added Mr. Hodges.
“Well, at least you’re six dollars ahead,” said Penny. “Shall we go, Mrs. Weems? It’s after midnight.”
The seamstress walked to the door with the callers.