Mr. Hallowell protested with indignation. “You read that in the morning paper,” he said.
Vera lowered her arm from her eyes and turned them reproachfully on him.
“I don’t read the Despatch,” she answered.
Mr. Hallowell drew back suspiciously. “I didn’t say it was the Despatch,” he returned.
Vance quickly interposed. “You don’t have to say it,” he explained with glibness; “you thought it. And Vera read your thoughts. You were thinking of the Despatch, weren’t you? Well, there you are! It’s wonderful!”
“Wonderful? Nonsense!” mocked Mr. Hallowell. “She did read it in the paper or Rainey told her.”
The girl shrugged her shoulders patiently. “If you would rather find out you were ill from the newspapers than from the spirit world,” she inquired, “why do you ask me here?”
“I ask you here, young woman,” exclaimed Hallowell, sinking back in his chair, “because I hoped you would tell me something I can’t learn from the newspapers. But you haven’t been able to do it yet. My dear young lady,” exclaimed the old man wistfully, “I want to believe, but I must be convinced. No tricks with me! I can explain how you might have found out everything you have told me. Give me a sign!” He beat the flat of his hand upon the table. “Show me something I can’t explain!”
“Mr. Hallowell is quite right, Vera,” said Vance. “He is entering what is to him a new world, full of mysteries, and that caution which in this world has made him so successful—”
With an exclamation, Hallowell cut short the patter of the showman.