PROFESSOR CLICK, MIND READER

Some months previously Alex and Jack had arranged to take their two weeks’ vacation at the same time, and to spend one week at Haddowville, Jack’s home, and the other at Bixton.

The long looked-for Monday had at length arrived, early that morning Jack had joined Alex at Exeter, and the two boys, aboard the Eastern Mail, were now well on their way to Haddowville.

For some minutes Alex’s part in the animated conversation of the two chums had waned. Presently, plucking Jack’s sleeve, he quietly directed his companion’s attention to the double seat across the aisle of the car.

“Jack, watch that soldier’s fingers,” he said in a low voice. “What’s the matter with him?”

The soldier in question, in the uniform of an infantry regular, sat facing them, beside a stout elderly gentleman. Opposite the first soldier was a second, in a similar uniform; and sharing the seat with the latter, and facing the old gentleman, was a decidedly pretty young girl.

It was the first soldier’s left hand, however, which attracted the boys’ particular attention. Resting in his lap, and partly concealed by a newspaper, the hand was so doubled that the thumb stood upright. And this latter member was bobbing and wagging up and down, now slowly, now quickly, in most curious fashion.

“Perhaps it’s St. Vitus’ dance,” ventured Jack.

“But that affects the whole body, or at least the whole limb, doesn’t it?”

Jack, who sat next the window, leaned slightly forward. “The other soldier is watching him,” he said. “Maybe the fellow with the wiggling thumb is out of his mind, and this one is taking him somewhere. He is watching his hand.”

Silently the boys continued to regard the curious proceeding.

Suddenly the thumb became quiet, there was the rattle of a paper in the hands of the second soldier, and in turn his thumb became affected with the wagging. In a moment the boys understood.

The two soldiers were army signallers, and were carrying on a silent conversation, using their thumbs as they would a flag.

Jack and Alex looked at one another and laughed softly. “We’re bright, eh?” Alex remarked.

“Let us watch when the other starts again we can’t see this chap’s hand well enough and see if we can’t read it,” suggested Jack. “That one-flag signal system is based on the telegraph dot and dash code, you know. And it’s not likely they are speaking of anything private only amusing themselves.”

The paper opposite again covered the first soldier’s hand, and observing closely, after a few minutes the boys were able to interpret the strokes of the wagging thumb with ease. They corresponded precisely to the strokes of a telegraph sounder, and of course were very much slower.

“... not much. I saw her first,” they read. “You have three girls at K now.... Get out. I’ll tell Maggie O’Rorke, and she’ll pick your eyes out.... No, sir. You can have the two old maids just back of you, and the fat party with the red hair. That’s your taste anyway.... If you spoke she’d freeze you so you’d never thaw out.”

The two boys exchanged glances, and chuckled in amusement.

“Say, look at the gaudy nose on that old chap across the aisle,” went on the wagging thumb. “Talk about danger signals! They ought to hire him to sit on the cow-catcher foggy nights.... I wouldn’t like to pay for all the paint it took to color it.... Plain whiskey, I guess. You can see what you are coming to if you don’t look out.... What’s the matter with that baby back there? Is the woman lynching it, or is it lynching the woman?... It’s not, either. It’s just like your high tenor, singing the Soldier’s Farewell. Only better. More in tune.... Yes, if they knew what we’d been saying about them there’d be a riot. I wouldn’t give much for your hair when the two old ladies behind got through with it.”

At this point, unable to resist the temptation, Alex nudged Jack, drew a pencil from his pocket, and slyly tapped on the metal of the seat-arm the two letters of the telegraph laugh, “Hi!”

The soldier opposite started, looked quickly over, caught the two boys’ twinkling eyes, and coloring, laughed heartily. Promptly then he raised his thumb, and wagged, “You young rascals! I’ll have you in the guard-house for stealing military information. Who are you?”

Alex replied, using his thumb as he had seen the soldier do; and the animated exchange of signals which followed continued until a whistle from the engine announced a stop, and the soldier wagged, “We get off here. Good-by.”

“Glad to have met you,” he said, smiling, as he and his companion passed them.

“Glad to have met you,” responded the boys heartily. “And to have got onto the signalling. It may come in useful some day,” Alex added. “Good day.”

“That’s just what I was thinking myself, Al,” declared Jack. “We must practice it.”

Following the disappearance of the out-going passengers, a group of newcomers appeared at the farther car door.

“Here comes someone I know,” Jack observed. “The big man in front Burke, a real estate agent.”

The tall, heavy-featured man passed them and took the seat immediately behind.

“He didn’t speak to you,” commented Alex.

“I’m glad he didn’t. He’s no friend; just knew him, I meant,” responded Jack. “He is a proper shark, they say. I know he practically did a widow out of a bit of property just back of ours.

“And here is another, same business, from the next town. And not much better,” Jack went on, as a short, bustling, sharp-featured man appeared.

The man behind them stood up and called, “Hi, there, Mitchell! Here!” The newcomer waved his hand, came forward quickly, and also dropped into the seat at the rear of the two boys.

“Nice pair of hawks,” said Jack. “I’ll bet they are hatching up something with a shady side to it. I’d be tempted to listen if I could.”

As the train was again under way, Jack had no opportunity of overhearing what was being said behind them. A few miles farther, however, they came once more to a stop, and almost immediately he pricked up his ears and nudged Alex.

“... don’t believe the ignorant dolt knows the real value of butter and eggs.” It was the deep voice of the bigger man, Burke. “He’s one of those queer ducks, without any friends. Lives there all by himself, doesn’t read the papers, and only comes to town about once a month. No; there’s not one chance in ten of his waking up and getting onto it.”

“You always were a lucky dog,” declared the other. “If you land it you ought to clear fifty thousand inside of five years.”

“A hundred. I intend holding for a cold hundred thousand. There has been talk of the town building a steam plant already; but water is of course away ahead of that, and they are sure to swing to it. And this fall is the only one within ten miles of Haddowville.”

“Didn’t I tell you!” exclaimed Jack in a whisper. “Doing somebody out of something, whatever it is.”

“You might build the plant yourself, and hold the town up for whatever you wished,” the second speaker went on.

“Yes, I could. But I prefer the ready cash. That has always been my plan of doing business. No; I figure on disposing of the farm just as it stands, either to the town, or a corporation, for an even hundred thousand.”

“Does that give you a clue, Jack?” Alex asked.

Jack shook his head. At the next remark, however, he sharply gripped Alex’s arm.

“What fall has the stream there?”

“Forty feet, and the lake back of it is nearly a mile long, and a half mile wide.”

The rumble of the train again drowned the voices of the two men, but Jack had heard enough. “It’s old Uncle Joe Potter his farm,” he said with indignation. “Now I understand. The old farmer apparently doesn’t know its value as an electric power plant site, and Burke is trying to get hold of it for a song.”

“Let us put the old man onto him,” Alex immediately suggested.

“I’ll talk the matter over with Father, and see what he says,” said Jack.

“But here comes the good old town,” he broke off with boyish enthusiasm. “Look, there is the creek, and the old swimming-hole at the bend. I’ll bet I’ve been in there a thousand times. And see that spire that’s our church. Our house is just beyond.

“Come on, let’s be getting out.”

Catching up their suitcases, the boys passed down the aisle. As they halted at the door, they glanced back and saw that their neighbors of the next seat were following them. The two men were still talking; and coming to a stand behind the boys, the latter caught a further remark from Burke apparently referring to the Potter farm deal.

“... wrote asking him to town this evening,” he was saying. “I’ll give him a bit of a good time to-night, and put him up at one of the hotels and, unless something unexpected happens, I’ll guarantee I’ll have the thing put through by noon to-morrow.”

“I hope you do,” responded his companion.

“And I hope you don’t!” exclaimed Jack beneath his breath. “And I may do something more than hope.”

Twenty minutes later, after a joyous welcome from his father and mother, and sister Kate, and the cordial reception extended Alex, Jack was seated at his “old corner” of the vine-hidden veranda, recounting the conversation they had overheard between the two real estate men. Before Mr. Orr had ventured an opinion in the matter, however, the subject was temporarily thrust aside by the appearance of a party of Kate’s girl friends, evidently much disturbed over something. When on running forward Kate’s voice was quickly added to the excited conversation, Jack followed to greet the girls, and learn the cause, and returned with the party to the veranda.

“Now what do you think of this?” he exclaimed with tragic horror. “Professor Robison, the world renowned mind reader (though I never heard of him before), owing to his inability to arrive, will not be able to be present at the Girls’ Club song-fight to-night! Did you ever!”

“But it’s no laughing matter,” said Kate, following the introduction of her friends to Alex. “He was the feature of our program to-night, and I simply can’t see what we are going to do. Many of the people will be coming just to hear him.”

“Jack, couldn’t you help us out?” asked one of the other girls, half seriously. “You used to pretend you were a phrenologist and all that kind of thing at school, I remember.”

“No thanks, Mary. I’ve gotten over all that sort of foolishness,” Jack responded, expanding his chest and speaking in a deep voice. “I leave that for you younger folks.”

A small laughing riot followed this pompous declaration, and at its conclusion Jack carried Alex off to introduce him to his pigeons and chickens, and other former treasures of the back yard.

Some minutes later Jack was dilating on the rich under-color of his pet Buff Orpington hen, when Alex, with an apology, abruptly broke in. “Say, Jack, what kind of a crowd do they have at these Girls’ Club affairs? Very swell?”

“Well, about everyone in the church goes, and quite a few farmers usually come in from out of town. They are as ‘swell’ as anything we have here, I guess. The Sunday-school room is usually well filled. Why?”

“I was just wondering whether we couldn’t help the girls out, and have a little fun out of it into the bargain. Remember the soldiers on the train? Now, why couldn’t we,” and therewith Alex briefly sketched his plan. Jack promptly tossed the hen back into the coop. “Great, Al! We will! It will be all kinds of a lark. I think there is just the stuff we’ll need up in the garret.

“Come on; we’ll break the joyful tidings to the girls.”

“I’d rather you played the part, though,” said Alex as they returned toward the veranda. “You of course know everyone.”

“That will make no difference according to this plan. If I am in full view, too, that will add to the mystery, and help keep up the fun. The folks will be breaking their heads to learn who it is on the platform. No; it’s settled. You are the distinguished professor and phreno-what-do-you-call-it.”

The girls on the veranda were still in dejected debate as the boys reappeared. “Ladies, we’ve got this thing fixed for you,” announced Jack. “We have just wirelessed and engaged that world-famous thought-stealer, bumpologist and general seer, Prof. Mahomet Click, of Constantinople, to plug up that hole in your program to-night. He stated that it would give him great pleasure to come to the assistance of such charming young women, et cetera, and that he could be counted upon.”

“You two mean things!” exclaimed Kate. “We saw you with your heads together out there, laughing. This is no joking matter at all.”

“We are serious,” Jack protested. “Positively. You go ahead and announce that owing to an attack of croup, or any other reason, Prof. Robison will not be able to appear, but that Prof. Click has kindly consented to substitute, and we will look after the rest.”

“Do you really mean it?” cried the girls.

“On our word as full-grown gentlemen,” responded Jack. “But we’re not going to explain.

“Come on, Alex, until we have further debate with the distinguished Turk up in the garret. He probably has arrived by this time.”

Whatever doubts Kate had as to the seriousness of the boys’ intentions, they had not only been dissipated by noon, but had given place to lively curiosity and expectation. Alex and Jack had devoted the entire morning to their mysterious preparations; had made numerous trips to the church school-room, to the stores; had borrowed needles, thread, mucilage; had turned the library shelves upside-down in a search for certain books; and once, coming on them unawares, she had surprised them practising strange incantations with their fingers.

It was late in the afternoon that the serious, and what was to prove the most important, feature of the evening’s performance developed. On a return trip to the dry-goods store Jack drew Alex to a halt with an exclamation, and pointed across the street. Burke, the real estate man, was walking slowly along with a shrivelled-up little old gentleman in dilapidated hat, faded garments, and top-boots.

“The victim!” said Jack with deep disgust. “Old Uncle Joe Potter.

“Look at him sporting along with a cigar in his mouth one of Burke’s cigars!”

The boys parallelled the oddly assorted pair some distance, and it could readily be seen that Burke was doing his best to win the old man’s confidence, and that the latter already was much impressed with the attention and deference shown him by the well-dressed agent.

“If we could get the old man alone,” said Alex.

“Not much chance, I am afraid. Now that he has him in hand, Burke probably won’t lose sight of him until he has closed his bargain. Remember what he said just before we left the train, about giving the old chap a good time to-night, and putting him up at one of the hotels.”

Alex halted. “Give him a good time! Say, Jack, why shouldn’t he give him a good time at the Girls’ Club entertainment to-night? And then why shouldn’t we ”

Jack uttered a shout, and struck Alex enthusiastically on the back. “Al, you’ve hit it! You’ve hit it! Bully!

“Here! Give me those complimentary tickets Kate gave us, and I’ll go right after them, before they make any other arrangements. You wait.”

Jack was running across the street in a moment, and drawing up alongside the two men, he addressed them both. “Excuse me, Mr. Potter, Mr. Burke but wouldn’t you like to take in our Girls’ Club entertainment to-night? It’s going to be really quite good good music, and fun, and a bit of tea social in between.

“I’m sure you would enjoy it,” he declared, addressing himself to the older man. “One of the features of the program is a chap who claims he can read people’s thoughts. Of course nobody thinks he can, but he will make lots of fun.”

The old man smiled, and looked at his companion.

“It is up to you, Mr. Potter,” responded Burke genially. “If you think you would enjoy it, why, I would. Your taste is good enough recommendation for me.”

“Then let us go,” said the old gentleman, putting his hand into his pocket.

“No; this is my treat,” interposed Burke, grasping the tickets. “Here you are, lad, and keep the change.”

“Thank you, sir,” said Jack. And with difficulty restraining a shout, he dashed back toward Alex, waving his hat above his head as a token of victory.

The scene of the Girls’ Club entertainment, the church school-room, was filled to the doors when the program began that evening.

“I’m beginning to be anxious about Mr. Burke and the old man, though,” observed Jack, who with Alex had been standing near the entrance, and remarking on the good attendance. A moment after the door again opened, and Jack started forward with an expression of relief. They had come.

“Good evening, Mr. Potter, Mr. Burke,” he said. “Shall I find you a seat?”

“Yes, and a good one, now,” requested the real estate man.

“I saved two, well to the front,” responded Jack. “This way, please.”

“Now, Alex,” he said, returning, “it’s up to us.”

The “mind-reading” number on the program was at length reached. The chairman arose.

“I am very sorry to say, ladies and gentlemen,” he announced, “that Prof. Robison, who is next on the program, was unexpectedly not able to keep his engagement. However, in his place we have secured the services of Prof. Mahmoud Click, of Constantinople; astrologer, phrenologist, mind-reader, and general all-round seer; and I am sure you will find him no less instructive and entertaining.”

Despite this assurance, in the silence which followed there was a distinct note of disappointment, even displeasure. For it was obvious that the flowery title of the substitute concealed some local amateur.

Disappointment, however, quickly gave place to a flutter of interest when the rear door opened, and preceded by Jack Orr, there swept down the aisle a tall, venerable figure in flowing robes; white-bearded, spectacled, and crowned with a tall conical hat bearing strange hieroglyphics.

When, on Jack stepping aside and taking an unobtrusive front seat, the aged professor mounted the platform and solemnly surveyed his audience, titters, then a burst of laughter swept over the school-room. The long yellow robe was covered with grotesque caricatures of cats, frogs, dogs, cranes and turtles, interspersed with great black question-marks.

The famed Oriental turned about toward a table, and the laughing broke out afresh. In the center of his back was a large cat’s-head, with wonderfully squinting eyes. When the cat slowly closed one distorted optic in a wink, then smiled, there was an unrestrained shout of merriment, and those who were not excitedly inquiring of one another the identity of the “seer,” settled back in their seats expectantly.

Placing the table at the front of the platform, the professor again faced the audience, and with dignified air, and deep, tragic voice, addressed them.

“Ladees and gentlemans. Ze chairman have spoke. I am Mahmoud Click, ze great seer, ze great mind-read, ze great bump-read, ze great profess. (Laughter.) I am ze seventeen son, of ze seventeen son, of ze seventeen son.

“An’ also have I bring for do ze magic pass,” thrusting a hand within his robe, “Tom ze Terrible, ze son of Tom, ze son of Tom.”

The hand reappeared, and placed on the table a tiny black kitten.

The burst of laughter which greeted this was renewed when the tiny animal began making playful passes at a spool on a string which the dignified professor held before it, remarking, “See? Ze magic pass.

“Now Tom ze Terrible will answer ze question, and show he onderstan’ ze Ingleesh,” the magician announced, at the same time swinging the spool out of the kitten’s sight.

“Tom, how old you are?”

The spool was swung back, the kitten began again hitting at it, solemnly the professor counted to twenty, and whisked the spool away. “Twenty year. Correc’.

“You see, ladees and gentlemans, ze venerable cat he cannot make mistake,” he observed amid laughing applause.

“Now Tom, tell some odder ting. How old is ze chairman?” indicating the dignified elderly man at the farther end of the platform. “Five? Correc’.

“You see, he always is right, yes.

“Now, Tom, how old is ze Rev. Mr. Borden?... Seven? Correc’ again.”

When the laughter which followed this “demonstration” had subsided the professor took up a new line. Earlier in the evening a certain John Peters, one of the town’s foppish young gallants, and who now occupied a prominent front seat, had widely announced the fact that he was present for the express purpose of “showing the mind-reader up.” At him accordingly the first quip was directed.

“Now Tom, tell ze audience, how many girl have Mr. John Wilberforce Peters?” was asked. “What? None?” For, the spool being held out of sight, the kitten gazed before it stolidly, without raising a foot. “Well, how many does he think he have?”

The spool being returned, the kitten tapped it ten times, paused, and struck it eight more, while the resulting wave of amusement grew, and the over-dressed object glowered threateningly at the figure on the platform.

“And how many will he marry?... What? Not one? Well, well,” commented the seer, to further hearty laughter.

“Now tell us about some of ze young ladies,” the professor went on. “How many beaux has Miss K. O.?” While Kate Orr bridled indignantly the spool was lowered, and the kitten tapped several times on one side, several times on the other, then, to an outburst of laughing and clapping, sat up and began hitting it rapidly with both paws.

“I was unable to keep ze count,” announced the seer, “but apparently about ze seventy-five. Miss O. she is popular wiz ze young men, yes.

“And now, Tom,” continued the magician, “how many special lady friend have Mr. Kumming (an extremely bashful member of the choir)?... Twenty-two! And how many young lady are in ze choir? Twenty-two!

“Ah! A strange coincidence,” observed the learned professor amid much merriment.

With similar quips and jokes the mind-reader continued, then giving the kitten into the charge of a little girl in a front seat, announced:

“Now will I read ze head. Will some small boys please come up and bring their heads and bumps?”

Coaxing finally brought a half-dozen grinning youngsters of eight or ten to the platform. From the pocket of the last to respond protruded the unmistakable cover of a dime-novel. Him the professor seized first, and having gravely examined his head, announced, “Ladees and gentlemans, for this boy I predict a great future. Never have I seen such sign of literary taste. Yes, he will be great unless he go west to kill ze Indian, and ze Indian see him first.”

On turning to the head of the second boy, the phrenologist started, looked more sharply, and slowly straightening up, announced, “Ladees and gentlemans, I have made ze great discovery. This boy some days you will be proud to know. Never have I seen such a lovely bump for eat ze pie! And any kind of pie you will name. He don’t care. He will eat it.”

And so, to continued laughter, he went on, finding remarkable cake-bumps, holiday-bumps, and picnic-bumps, and proportionately under-developed school and chore-bumps with the exception of one glowing example, which finally proved to have been developed by a baseball bat.

Then came the “mind-reading.” Placing a small blackboard on the front of the platform, facing the audience, the professor seated himself in a chair ten feet behind it, and invited someone to step to the board and write.

“All I ask is,” announced the mind-reader, “please write not too fast, and fix ze mind on what you write. And by ze thought-wave will I tell it, letter by letter.”

The first to respond wrote the name of his father, a doctor. Expecting only some humorous guess as to what was written, the audience was somewhat surprised when the professor spelled out the name correctly, only adding the humorous touch of “mud,” hastily corrected to “M. D.” As others followed with figures, and more difficult names and words, the interest of the audience began to take on a new tone.

The last of the first party which had stepped forward to write was the over-dressed young man Alex had poked some of his fun at, and who was bent on “showing him up.”

He wrote: “You are a faker.”

“Explain to ze audience how I do it, zen, Mr. Peters,” retorted the professor. In some confusion Peters sought his seat, and the minister approached the board.

The interest of the audience had now become serious and silent. Even Kate Orr, though knowing there was trickery somewhere, was nonplussed. For Jack, in the front row, appeared as immovable, and as frankly interested as those about him. Loosely folded in his lap was a newspaper which for a moment attracted Kate’s suspicious eye; but watching closely, she saw not the hint of a movement that might have been a signal.

The minister’s first word was the name Hosea. This was promptly called off, and the writer went on with others, gradually more difficult. Finally, in rapid succession, one under the other, he wrote “ZEDEKIAH, AHOLIBAH, NEBUCHADNEZZAR.” As readily the figure on the platform announced them, and the reverend gentleman turned away with an expression frankly puzzled.

“Pardon me, Mr. Professor, but since this is genuine mind-reading, of course you could read just as well with your eyes blindfolded, could you not? Would you kindly give a demonstration that way?”

It was Peters. There was immediate clapping at the suggestion, and calls of “Yes, yes! Do it blindfolded!”

In alarm Kate, from her seat, gazed toward Jack. To her surprise he was one of the most energetic in clapping the proposal.

The professor himself, however, was plainly disconcerted, to the particular delight of Peters and his circle of friends, who, as the mind-reader continued to hesitate, clapped more and more loudly.

Finally the seer arose. “Well, ladees and gentlemans, if you wish, certainly. Though I do read just as good with my eyes open.”

This negative statement brought further derisive laughter and clapping from Peters and his friends, which was added to when the professor continued, “Will some young lady be kind enough to lend me ze handkerchief ze tiny leetle one with plenty holes all round?”

Peters was again on his feet. “Here is one!”

It was a large, dark neckerchief, obviously brought for this very purpose. As Peters stepped forward and mounted the platform the professor removed his spectacles with apparent reluctance. Broadly smiling, Peters threw the folded kerchief over the mind-reader’s eyes, saw that it fitted snugly, and tied it. “Now we’ve got you, Mr. Smart, of Constantinople,” he whispered derisively.

“Have ze good time and laugh while you may,” responded the professor, and raising his voice he asked, “Will someone kindly bring ze glass water? Mind-reading, it is dry.”

It was Jack started to his feet, passed down the room, and returned with the desired water. Watching, Kate expected to see a consultation between the two boys, as to some way out of the apparent difficulty. Jack, however, merely placed the glass in the extended hand, and received it back without the exchange of a syllable. Not only that, he returned to the back of the hall, and instead of resuming his seat at the front, mounted to a window ledge at the rear.

“Well, I am ready,” announced the professor. “And I make ze suggestion that Mr. Peters himself write ze first.”

The latter was speedily at the board. As he wrote, a silence fell. Previously the professor had called off each letter as written. This time there was no response. With a smile that gradually broadened to a laugh Peters finished an odd Indian name, and asked, “The thought-waves haven’t gone astray already, have they, Mr. Professor? Haven’t been frightened off by a mere handkerchief, surely?”

“I was wondering how to pronounce it,” came the quiet response. “I’ll spell it instead. It is,

“‘M U S Q U O D O B O I T.’”

Peters stared blankly. Not more blankly than the majority of the audience, however, including Kate herself. She turned toward Jack. He appeared as surprised as Peters. Indeed, if there was anything suspicious, it was that Jack appeared a trifle over-astonished.

As the burst of applause which followed the first surprise was succeeded by a wave of laughter, Kate turned back to discover Peters, very red in the face, drawing on the board a picture. As she looked a grotesquely ugly face took shape. The face completed, there was a renewed burst of merriment when Peters topped it with a fool’s-cap, and on that sketched rough hieroglyphics.

“Now whose picture have I drawn?” he demanded loudly.

“Well, you tried to draw mine,” responded the professor, dropping into normal English, “but as the dunce’s tie is far up the back of his collar, I leave the audience to decide whose it is.”

At this there were shouts and shrieks of laughter, and Peters, hurriedly feeling, and finding his own tie far out of place, threw the chalk to the floor and dashed back to his seat amid a perfect bedlam of hilarity.

The uproar soon subsided, however, for not one in the crowded room but was now thoroughly wonderstruck at the demonstration. Some of the older people began to step forward, writing the most difficult names they could think of, meaningless words, groups of figures. A teacher chalked a proposition in algebra. Without error all were called out promptly.

The climax was reached when one of the church elders advanced to the board, and while writing, fixed his eyes on something in his half-opened hand.

Without hesitation the blindfolded unknown announced, “Mr. Storey is writing the name of one of the Apostles, but is thinking of a penknife.”

The clapping which followed was scattered and brief. “It’s simply uncanny,” exclaimed one of Kate’s neighbors. Kate, glancing back toward Jack, shook her head. Up there, in full view, she could not possibly see how he could have anything to do with it.

At this point the minister again stepped forward. “Will you answer a few questions?” he scrawled.

“With pleasure, Mr. Borden.”

“How old am I?”

“Forty-nine next September.”

The minister ran his fingers through his hair, perplexedly.

“How old is Mrs. Borden?”

There was a slight pause, then in gallant tones came the answer, “Twenty-two.”

Amid a renewal of laughter, and much clapping from the ladies, the minister was about to turn away, when on second thought he turned back, and wrote:

“Name the twelve Apostles.”

For the first time the learned seer displayed signs of uneasiness. After some stumbling, however, he completed the list.

With a twinkle in his eyes, the preacher inscribed a second question,
“Name Joshua’s captains.”

Prof. Click cleared his throat, ran his fingers down his beard, moved uneasily in his chair, and at length, while a smile began to spread over the room, shook his head.

“But I am thinking of them hard,” declared the minister, chuckling.

The professor was again about to shake his head, when suddenly he paused, then replied boldly, “Shem, Ham, Hezekiah, Hittite, Peter, Goliath, Solomon and Pharaoh.”

It was during the shouts of merriment following this ridiculous response that Kate’s mystification began to dissolve. Glancing again toward her brother, she saw that, despite a show of laughing, there was an uneasiness in his face similar to that shown by the professor. And when presently she saw him cast a covertly longing eye toward a pile of Bibles in the next window, she turned back to the platform, silently laughing. She thought she had discovered the source of the “thought waves.”

The success of the brazenly invented answer to the last question, meantime, had quite restored the professor’s confidence, and as the minister went on, he continued to respond in the same ridiculous fashion, claiming, on the minister’s protest, that he was only reading the thought-waves as they came to him. And finally the pastor laughingly gave it up.

At the next, and final, “demonstration” mystification of another kind came to the observant Kate. Rising to his feet, the mind-reader announced that he would now inform a few of the “stronger thinkers” before him the subject of their thoughts; and both in his manner and tone Kate noted an unmistakable nervousness. Glancing toward Jack, she saw that his face also was grave, and with a stirring of apprehension of she knew not what, she waited.

“The first thought which reaches me,” began the professor, “is from Miss Mary Andrews. Miss Andrews thinks her pretty toque is on straight. It’s not quite. I think one pin is coming out.”

Following this laughingly applauded “reading,” the speaker informed Miss James that she was thinking her lace collar was not loose behind. “Which was quite correct.” As also was Mr. Storey’s impression that there was not a long blond hair on his coat collar. “There was not.”

Then Kate distinctly saw the speaker take a deep breath.

“Mr. Joseph Potter is a strong thinker,” he proceeded. “I read several thoughts from Mr. Potter.”

The old farmer, to whom the whole performance had appeared as nothing less than magic, leaned out into the aisle, breathless and staring.

“It seems to me, Mr. Potter,” the mind-reader went on, “it seems to me you are thinking about some important business deal some big deal concerning land.”

The old man’s mouth opened.

“Also it seems to me that this land may be worth a great deal more than ”

There was an exclamation, a commotion, and Burke, the real estate man, was on his feet. A moment he stood staring, as though doubting his ears, then catching up his hat he said in a loud voice, “Come, Mr. Potter, we must go. That other engagement, you know I had forgotten it.”

The old man sprang up, and brushed Burke aside. “Go on! Go on!” he cried toward the figure on the platform. The startled audience gazed from one to another. Several arose.

“It seems to me,” resumed Alex quietly, “that there is a waterfall on your farm, and that ”

“Hold on there! Hold on!” The words came in a shout, and springing into the aisle, Burke strode toward the platform, purple with rage. “What do you mean? What are you doing?

“Who is this man?” he demanded at the top of his lungs. “I demand to know! What does he mean by ?”

Swiftly hobbling down the aisle behind him, the old man attempted to pass. Roughly Burke pushed him back.

The minister stepped forward. “Mr. Burke, what do you mean?”

“What does this man here mean by by ”

“Yes, by what, Mr. Burke?”

“By making reflections against me,” shouted Burke. “I demand an explanation! I ”

“But my dear sir, I am sure nothing was said ”

The old man dodged by, ran to the edge of the platform, and cried in a thin, high voice, “Do you mean my farm? My farm that Burke wants to buy?”

There was a momentary silence, during which here and there could be heard long in-drawn gasps. Then abruptly Alex tore the bandage from his eyes, swept off the hat and beard, and stepped to the front.

“There need be no further mystery about this,” he declared in a grimly steady voice. “On the train this morning Jack Orr and I accidentally overheard ”

From Burke came a scream, he sprang forward with raised fists, faltered, and suddenly whirling about, dashed down the aisle for the door, and out. And in the breathless silence which followed Alex completed his explanation.

As the old man climbed the platform steps and extended a shaking hand, the applause that burst from every corner of the room fairly rattled the windows; and as the uproar continued, and Alex sprang hastily to the floor, he was surrounded by a jostling, enthusiastic crowd of strangers from whom in vain he sought to escape.

Some minutes later, enjoying tea and cake in a circle which included the minister, the latter smilingly remarked, “But you haven’t yet explained the rest of the mysterious doings, Master Alex. Aren’t you going to enlighten us all round? Prefer to keep it a secret, eh? Well, if you will promise us another ‘exposition’ I’m sure we will agree not to press you,” declared the minister, heartily.

And as a matter of fact, save Kate, no one has yet solved the mystery, not even the janitor, although on cutting the grass a few days later he picked up beneath one of the school-room windows an unaccountable piece of fine copper wire.