“‘Mr. Mortimer is not a psychic; indeed, he is not a student of the occult or even a believer in telepathy, but he has promised to obey the conditions laid down for him. These are merely and only that he is to follow Hanlon, keeping a few steps behind him, and mentally will the blindfolded man to go in the right direction to find the hidden knife.’” “Isn’t it wonderful, Sanford,” breathed Miss Abby, her eyes shining with the delight of the mystery. “Poppycock!” and Embury smiled at her as a gullible child. “You don’t mean to say, aunt, that you believe there is no trickery about this!” “But how can there be? You know, Sanford, it’s easy enough to say ‘poppycock’ and ‘fiddle-dee-dee!’ and ‘gammon’ and ‘spinach!’ But just tell me how it’s done--how it can be done by trickery? Suggest a means however complicated or difficult--” “Oh, of course, I can’t. I’m no charlatan or prestidigitateur! But you know as well as I do, that the thing is a trick--” “I don’t! And anyway, that isn’t the point. I want to go to see it. I’m not asking your opinion of the performance, I’m asking you to let me go. May I?” “No, indeed! Why, Aunt Abby, it will be a terrible crowd--a horde of ragamuffins and ruffians. You’d be torn to pieces--” “But I want to, Sanford,” and the old lady was on the verge of tears. “I want to see Hanlon--” “Hanlon! Who wants to see Hanlon?” The expected Hendricks came into the room, and shaking hands as he talked, he repeated his question: “Who wants to see Hanlon? Because I do, and I’ll take any one here who is interested.” “Oh, you angel man!” exclaimed Aunt Abby, her face beaming. “I want to go! Will you really take me, Alvord?” “Sure I will! Anybody else? You want to see it, Eunice?” “Why, I didn’t, but as Sanford just read it, it sounded interesting. How would we go?” “I’ll run you out in my touring car. It won’t take more’n the afternoon, and it’ll be a jolly picnic. Go along, San?” “No, not on your life! When did you go foolish, Alvord?” “Oh, I always had a notion toward that sort of thing. I want to see how he does it. Don’t think I fall for the telepathy gag, but I want to see where the little joker is,--and then, too, I’m glad to please the ladies.” “I’ll go,” said Eunice; “that is, if you’ll stay and dine now--and we can talk it over and plan the trip.” “With all the pleasure in life,” returned Hendricks. Chapter II A Trip To Newark Perhaps no factor is more indicative of the type of a home life than its breakfast atmosphere. For, in America, it is only a small proportion, even among the wealthy who ‘breakfast in their rooms.’ And a knowledge of the appointments and customs of the breakfast are often data enough to stamp the status of the household.