And Mrs. Bray put down these figures also.
“That's three rows,” said Pinky, “and we want ten.” She arose, as she spoke, and going to the front window, looked down upon the street.
“There's an organ-grinder; it's the first thing I saw;” and she came back fingering the leaves of her dream-book. “Put down 40, 50, 26.”
Mrs. Bray wrote the numbers on her slip of paper.
“It's November; let's find the November row.” Pinky consulted her book again. “Signifies you will have trouble through life—7, 9, 63. That's true as preaching; I was born in November, and I've had it all trouble. How many rows does that make?”
“Five.”
“Then we will cut cards for the rest;” and Pinky drew a soiled pack from her pocket, shuffled the cards and let her friends cut them.
“Ten of diamonds;” she referred to the dream-book. “10, 13, 31; put that down.”
The cards were shuffled and cut again.
“Six of clubs—6, 35, 39.”