Mr. Payson frowned at this frivolity. "There are things they’ve told me that no one living could possibly know. Whether it’s done through spirits or not, it’s mysterious business. You ought to go to a séance and see what they can do." "I’d hate to have them tell my past," Cayley said jocosely, "but I don’t take much stock in them. They’re a gang of fakirs." "They’re pretty sharp, if they are. I haven’t lived fifty years in the West to be taken in as easily as that. I ought to know something about men by this time. Why, see here! You know what trouble I had with my leg? It was something pretty serious. Well, look at me now. You’ve noticed the change yourself. I went to a medium and now I’m completely cured. That’s enough to give any one confidence, isn’t it? It’s genuine evidence." Cayley agreed with a solemn nod. "But what about the book?" "Why, if they can influence the right forces so that it’ll be a success, why shouldn’t I give them a trial? Look at hypnotism! Look at wireless telegraphy! For that matter, look at the telephone! Fifty years ago no one would believe that such things were possible. It may be the same with this power, whatever it is, spirits or not. I’m an old man, but I keep up with the times. I’m not going to set myself up for an authority and say, because a thing hasn’t seemed probable to me, that I know all about the mysterious forces of nature. I’ve come to believe that there are powers inherent in us that may be developed successfully." The incipient smile, the attitude of bantering protest had faded from Cayley’s face, as the old man spoke. He listened sedately. Oliver Payson was a rich man. He had an attractive, marriageable daughter. Blanchard Cayley was poor, single and without prospects. "Of course, there’s much we don’t yet understand," he said gravely. "One hears all sorts of tales—there must be some foundation to them." "That’s so—why, just look at Cly! She’s had queer things happen to her ever since she was a child." "Yes, I suppose that’s why she’s so interested in this palmist person; though I confess I don’t take much stock in him." "What do you mean?" Mr. Payson demanded. "Why, I thought of course you knew. Granthope, the palmist—you know, the fellow everybody’s taking up now—he has been here, hasn’t he? I had an idea that Cly had taken rather a fancy to him." "He was here?" Mr. Payson seemed much surprised. "Why, I wouldn’t have spoken of it for the world if I had known you didn’t know—but I’ve seen her with him several times, and I thought, of course—" Cayley threw it out apologetically in apparent confusion at his indiscretion. Mr. Payson stared. "Granthope, did you say? I believe I have heard of him. Cly and a common palmist? I can’t believe it. What can she want of a charlatan like that?" "I was sorry to see it myself," Cayley admitted, "but I suppose she knows what she’s doing. The man’s notorious enough. Only, she ought to be careful."