"I see a atmosphere of trouble!" The young man's countenance dropped, whereupon Laughing Eyes fell to chattering foolishly before she went on: "Piles of bright 'itty buttons--money--" And then something which had been gently titillating Rosalie's sense of smell made a sudden connection with her memory, Iodoform--the faintest suggestion. She linked this perception with his appearance of having been freshly tubbed, his immaculate finger nails, shining as though fresh from the manicure, his perfectly kept teeth and--yes--the pressure of a finger on her pulse. Upon this perception, Laughing Eyes spoke sharply: "Wilfred says your sick folks don't always pay like they ought. He says when they're in danger they can't do too much for the doctor, but when they're well, he's--he--he--Wilfred is funny--a old sawbones!" "Ask fa--ask him about the patient," faltered Rosalie's sitter. "Wilfred says, 'My son, it's comin' out all right if you follow your own impulses,'" responded Laughing Eyes. "You do the way the influences guide you. They 're guiding _you_, not them other doctors that you're askin' advice from." Laughing Eyes shifted to babbling of the bright spirit plane beyond, and all that the patient was missing by delay in translation, while Rosalie took another glance of observation, and thought rapidly. Was this patient a medical or surgical case? Two chances out of three, surgical; it would take remorse and apprehension over a mistake with the scalpel to drive a medical man medium-hunting. Her glance at his hands confirmed her determination to venture. They were large and heavy, yet fine, the hands of a craftsman, a forger, a surgeon, anyone who does small and exact work. Rosalie had been in a hospital in her day, and she had studied doctors, as she studied the rest of humanity, with an eye always to future uses. Having a pair of hands like that, a doctor must inevitably choose surgery. "Trust your papa!" babbled the Control. "Laughing Eyes trusted her papa--ugh!--he big Chief. He here now! Your papa knows my papa! Your papa says you didn't cut too deep!" The young man let out an agitated "didn't I?" "You was guided," pursued Laughing Eyes. "What you might'a' thought was a mistake was all for the best. Those in the spirit controlled your hands. Wilfred says 'three'--oh--oh I know what Wilfred means--ugh--get out bad spirit--Wilfred means three days--you wait three days--you wait three days and it will be right." "And now," thought Rosalie Le Grange, "he's got his money's worth, and I'll take no more risks for any two dollars!" Forthwith, she let the voice of Laughing Eyes chuckle lower and lower. "Good-by!" whispered the control at length, "I'm goin' away from my medie!" Then, with a few refined convulsions, Rosalie awoke, rubbed her eyes, and said in her tinkling natural voice: "Was I out long? I hope the sitting was satisfactory." No change came over the young man's face as he said: "From my standpoint--very!"