“I see a wonderful child. He is strong and sturdy. In the hand of his father the stars have laid their prophecy. It is very clear. This babe will grow up to be a fine—Ah, wait! Yes, a very remarkable man.” Another long silence, broken sacrilegiously by Mr. Sikes. “I could have told you that, Ollie, for nothing,” he said. “Sh!” “I can see this son of yours, Mister, as a leader of men. Great honor is in store for him, and great wealth.” “They invariably say that,” said Mr. Sage, smiling. “Sh!” hissed Baxter fiercely. “He is in uniform. Of the military, I believe, although the vision is not yet entirely clear. I do not recognize the uniform.” “Have you ever seen a general?” inquired Mr. Baxter, wistfully. Mr. Link interposed. “I know what it is. Many’s the time that infant’s father has marched in a funeral procession wearing a Knights of Pythias uniform. Does the hat appear to have a long white plume on it, Queen?” “There will be wars, Mister, bloody wars,” went on the gypsy, paying not the slightest attention to the obliging undertaker. “I see men in uniform following your son—many men, Mister, and all of them armed.” “Sounds like the police to me,” observed Mrs. Sage. “Do they catch him?” cried Mrs. Grimes breathlessly. “He puts away the trappings of war,” continued the imperturbable seeress. “I see him as a successful man, at the head of great undertakings. He is still young. He has been out of college but a few years.” “That will please his mother,” said Baxter, sniffling. “She has always wanted that boy to go to college.” “Sh!” put in Mr. Sikes testily. “Alas! He will have a great sorrow before he is ten. I can see death standing beside him. He will lose some one who is very dear to him.” “Aha!” ejaculated Mr. Gooch, as if here was something to relish. Mr. Baxter laughed shrilly but mirthlessly. “Look close, Queen,” he said. “I bet it’s me he’s going to lose.” “Nay. Some one nearer to him than his father.” “Stop!” said he soberly, trying to withdraw his hand. “I don’t want to hear any more. If you mean his—his mother, why, you’ll have to stop.” Some coaxing and a little ridicule on the part of the spectators decided Baxter. He laughed and, edging forward on his chair, ordered the gypsy to continue. “Let me go back a little,” she droned. “The vision is clearer. He will come out of college at the top of his class, with great honors. Then, soon after, will come the wars. He will fight in foreign lands.” “That bears out what I’ve claimed for years,” said Mr. Link. “We’ve got to lick England again.” “Your son will have many narrow escapes, Mister, but he will come home to his mother, safe and sound.” “I thought you said she was going to die before he was ten,” said Mr. Gooch. Covert glances passed between the two gypsies, the younger now being wide awake. The fortune-teller bent low over the Baxter palm and studied it more carefully.