"That's not what Pheola says," he told her sourly, pointing to chairs we could take. "Pheola?" Shari questioned. "A powerful PC," Wally said. "She predicted you would accompany Tex tonight." "Oh, _really_," Shari said scathingly. "I was there," I told her. "She really did." "Let's not be diverted by sideshows," Shari said. "We're here to measure the psi powers of Tex Robertson, not to talk over the reputed clairvoyance of some dim and misty character." "Precognition," Wally corrected her. "Stick around, Dr. King. Pheola will be down a little later. She thinks Tex is something special." That was not going to make a good interchange, so I cut in. "Dr. King is a professional in this field--" I started. Wally waved a disgusted hand. "We know all about Dr. King and her field," he said. "Proving that psi powers don't exist, right, Dr. King?" Shari bristled. It was hard to stay friendly in any talk with Bupp. "You know my field," she said, about twenty degrees below zero. "I accept any and all evidence, regardless what it proves! There's a lot of talk about psi powers, but precious little that can ever be detected under laboratory conditions!" "Oh, well," Wally Bupp grinned. "That's not so strange. All members of the Lodge are cautioned to stay away from laboratories. You've been testing Normals. What do you expect for results?" "Then _you_ show me!" she stormed. "Go on with you," he grinned. "I thought it was Tex's powers you wanted tested. Mine are irrelevant." "I _thought_ so," she said triumphantly. "Charlatan!" For a moment the grin flickered off his face and I tensed to catch Shari if she should start to drop. But I guess he thought better of it. "Some other time," he said. "Let's get this over with. Make it simple. You may have some statistical objections to my technique tonight, but I'm not looking for fringe effects. If this hot-eyed swain of yours is any good at all, he'll bat a thousand." He got a deck of cards out of his desk drawer and fanned it out face up so that he could pluck the two of spades and the two of hearts from the deck. The rest he put back in his desk. He put his hands under the desk, with the two cards in them, produced the cards again, face down, and laid them in a thin stack on the desk before all of us. "What's on top?" he said. "Red or black?" "How will you score?" Shari insisted. He scowled at her and tossed a squeeze counter across the desk. "You score," he said. "It really isn't necessary. Tex will either be right all the time or it won't matter." But before I could call the top card, the office door opened behind us. I looked around, expecting Pheola. Instead it was Milly with the down, down hose. Only this time she was decently dressed in a dark two-piece suit and wore make-up. She certainly was no more talkative than before, nor did Wally introduce her. Shari was perfectly equal to the occasion and looked through Milly with composure. This takes about three generations of overbreeding.