Moreover, this proficient prestidigitator constituted himself her private secretary and astral errand boy. He not only precipitated her social correspondence upon kid-finished, but he thus prepared all of her “advanced thought” papers, thereby saving her long hours over the Encyclopedia Britannica. Still more, he would read to her all letters and notes received, thus saving her the trouble of breaking the seals; and to amuse and gratify her, would peep--astrally, of course--and report upon the private correspondence and the private affairs of her friends in Kankakee. And this was but one of the many offices and arts he exploited to charm his Affinity. And so it came to be an every-day occurrence that following any social invitation into the exclusive circles of Kankakee, Imogene would call to her “Llama Lonnie,” or her “Lonnie Bird,” and say, “Please won’t you just run over to Mrs. Dr. this, or Mrs. Judge that, and rubber a while? Then,” she would say,--“I’ll know what to wear and who is invited and how much it’ll cost, etc.” Mrs. Vanderhook’s sudden acquisition of unlimited finery and jewels created unfavorable comment. The sudden costly equipment of her house astonished everybody. Her lavish display in entertaining was severely criticised by the best people. For in Kankakee, as elsewhere, the best people keep tab on each other’s faults, follies and failures. The ghost of this gossip drifted back to the drug store; and Bill, who was too proud of himself to betray his wife, chafed in secret. For, of course, the world knew nothing of the great astro-human drama that was being enacted in the Mayor’s home. But there came a day when the outraged owner of the Mansard Roof cast aside all semblance of hospitality toward his rival and broke out into a fierce and jealous anger at his ethereal tormentor. “Begone! you bloodless villain,”--he roared one morning when he had entered his dining room unexpectedly and found his guest strewing lilies of the valley around the plate laid for Imogene’s breakfast. “Begone! I say. Get out of my sight! Leave my house! Get out! I say, now, at once. Fly! melt! disappear!--vamoose!” But the platter he hurled at his rival’s head went straight through it, crashing against the back of the chair on which sat the seer, smiling and unruffled. Imogene snickered, and the astral man showered lilacs over her chair, while a handful of thistles were viciously flung from nowhere--into the blazing countenance of the enraged husband. “Faithless woman! black magician!” shrieked Bill Vanderhook; and gathering up a large, bright carving knife, he sent it spinning into the heart of his rival. That is to say, the point of the knife clove the back of Alonzo Leffingwell’s chair, while the handle protruded from that gentleman’s left vest pocket. But the gay Gnani of Gingalee still sat in his chair, erect, tranquil, smiling.