"It's a good trick," I said cautiously.
"It's not a trick," the young man said, aggrieved. "It's something I can't help."
"Oh yeah? Well how does it happen that I was able to see you when you came in?"
"I was exerting my will power," the young man said. "But that's awfully tiring. I had to relax a moment or so and when I did you weren't able to see me quite so distinctly."
I found my curiosity stirring. Maybe the guy was a crackpot or phony, but it wouldn't hurt to hear his story. In my line, with things as lean as they are, you can't afford to miss any bets.
"What makes you pop on and off like an electric light?" I asked. "Must be a tiring way to go through life."
"You don't know the half of it," the young man said mournfully. "I've only been this way for a few months, but it seems like it's been years."
"Well, go on," I said. "Spill your troubles. Why should Mr. Anthony have all the fun?"
"What?"
"Never mind. Shoot."