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!”

“Thank you,” murmured Rosalie.  “I was afraid, when you come in, that the influences wasn’t going to be strong.  A medium can sense them.”

“Very satisfactory—­with modifications,” responded the sitter.  “For instance, it is absolutely true that I had a father.  His name wasn’t Wilfred, it was James.  And he died before I was born.  But don’t let that discourage you.  I can prove his existence.  The other true thing was the corker.  I’ve been to fifty-seven varieties of mediums in the course of this experiment, and you’re the first to jump at the widest opening I gave.  I am a physician.  I’ve put iodoform on my handkerchief every morning to prove it.  I’ve been listed six times as a commercial traveler, twice as a con man, eight times as a clerk, three times as a policeman, with scattering votes for a reporter, a clergyman, an actor and an undertaker.  But you’re the first to roll the little ball into the little hole.  I am a physician, or was.  Better than that, you got it that I specialized on surgery—­and I didn’t plant that.  You draw the capital prize.”

“Young man,” asked Rosalie with an air of shocked and injured innocence, “are you accusing me of fakery?” But despite her stern lips, in Rosalie’s cheeks played the ghost of a pair of dimples.  They were reflected, so to speak, by twin twinkles in the eyes of her sitter.  And he went straight on: 

“In addition, you’re the prettiest of them all, and a cross-eyed man with congenital astigmatism could see that you’re a good fellow.  Do! My controls tell me that you’re about to be offered a good job.”

“My controls tell me,” responded Rosalie Le Grange, “that if you don’t quit insultin’ a lady in her own house and disgracin’ her crown of mediumship, out you go.  There’s those here that will defend me, I’ll have you know!”

The young man’s face sobered.  “I beg your pardon, Mme. Le Grange,” he said, “I have been sudden.  Would you mind my coming to the point at once?  I’m here to offer you a job.”