Summerman did not answer, though Rush was looking full upon him; neither did he avoid the long and piercing gaze the stranger fixed upon him. He met that like a man.
"You think I'm mad," at last said Mr. Rush.
"Not exactly."
"Thank you. But you are a gipsy. Read my fortune."
Gravely Summerman looked at the fair, smooth palm that was suddenly stretched before him.
"You have been unfortunate," said he.
"Oh, no; you mustn't admit that. Only a little money lost, that's all."
"Is it all, indeed?" asked Summerman, and he dropped the palm. Then he shook his head. "I do not think it could have served you so. A little loss!" said he.
"That is because fortune never made a fool of you. Let me alone; I want to think." He spoke in the quick, peremptory manner of a man who is accustomed to command; but he came very near to smiling the next moment, as he looked down at the little person whom he had ordered into silence.
Then he broke the silence he had enjoined.