But the spieler was going on and on, giving her a fearful and wonderful history, endowing her with weird gifts—“... Yes, sir, folks, the Princess Lalla sees all, knows all—sees all in this magic crystal of hers. She sees past, present and future, and will reveal all to anyone who cares to step up on this platform and be convinced. Just 25 cents, folks, one lonely little quarter, and you’ll have past, present and future revealed to you by the Turkish seeress, favorite fortune-teller of the Sultan of Turkey. Who’ll be first, boys and girls? Step right up.” As he exhorted and harangued, the spieler, whom Sally had heard called Gus, was busy arranging the little pine table, covered with black velvet embroidered in gold thread with the signs of the Zodiac. On the table stood a crystal ball, mounted on a tarnished gilt pedestal, and covered over with a black square. Gus whisked off the square and revealed the “magic crystal” to the gaping crowd. Then, with another deep salaam, he conducted the “Princess Lalla” to her throne-like chair. She seated herself and cupped her brown-painted hands with their gilded nails over the large glass bowl. A young man vaulted lightly upon the platform, followed by giggles and slangy words of encouragement. Sally’s eyes, mercifully shielded by the black lace veil, widened with terror. Her hands trembled so as they hovered over the crystal that she had an almost irresistible impulse to cover her face with them. Then she remembered that the black lace veil and the brown powder did that. For the first to demand an exhibition of her powers as a seeress was Ross Willis, Pearl Carson’s “boy friend,” Ross Willis who had not asked her to dance because she was the Carsons’ “hired girl” from the orphanage. While Ross Willis, awkward and embarrassed, shuffled to the canvas chair which Gus, the spieler, whisked forward, Sally reflected that there was no need for her to remember any of the multitudinous instructions which Mrs. Bybee had primed her for her job of “seeress.” She curved her small, brown painted, gilded-nailed hands over the crystal and bent her veiled face low. In a seductive, sing-song voice she began to chant, bringing some of the words out hesitantly, as if English had been recently learned and came hard to her “Turkish” lips: “I zee ze beeg fields—wheat fields, corn fields—ees it not zo?” She raised her shaded eyes coyly to the face of the young farmer. The crowd pressed close, breathing hard, the odors of their perspiration coming up on hot waves of summer air to the gayly dressed little figure on the platform. “Yes’m, I mean, sure, Princess,” Ross Willis stuttered, and the crowd laughed, pressed closer still. Two or three women waved quarters to attract the attention of Gus, the spieler, who stood behind her, to aid her if necessary.