At the table, idly shuffling a pack of grimy cards, sat Old Meg, a horrible old hag, wrinkled in face like a mummy, with only the stumps of teeth which had more the appearance of tusks.  Her unkempt hair was matted and ugly wisps of it hung down over her bleary eyes.  For clothes she wore an old-fashioned faded gingham wrapper and around her shoulders a dirty torn shawl.  On her feet was a pair of man’s shoes, many sizes too large, which had evidently been cast away as useless by some former owner, himself squalid.  These she managed to keep on by tying the tops with wrapping-cord.  A more unlovely human being it would have been hard to find in all the great city.  There she sat, crooning a ballad to herself in a high, cracked voice.  It sounded like an incantation.

A step sounded in the alley and Old Meg looked up and listened intently.  The sound came nearer.  She got up and retreated into a dark corner, for she knew the neighborhood well, and many a time some thug, brutal with drink, had entered her den and wrung her last few pennies from her.

But it was no inhabitant of this quarter of the town who entered this time.  It was Paul Balcom.

The hag grinned in a horrible way at him, for it was not unusual for people of his kind to visit her and it always meant money.  With her apron she dusted off the chair that stood at the table and begged him to be seated.  Then she shuffled the cards and cut, shuffled and cut, and then as though at last satisfied she laid them face downward on the table and spoke.

“Wish, my handsome gentleman, and may your wish come true.”

“Go ahead with the hocus-pocus,” growled Paul.

Mother Meg picked up one card after another and her cracked voice was evidently following a set formula.

“If the queen of spades comes between the king of clubs and the queen of hearts—­”

Paul listened with a strained intentness as the hag singsonged on and on.  Then a look of satisfaction came into his eyes and he smiled happily.  Next his look changed to a nasty look of determination, and he abruptly got up, tossing a bank-note on the table which Old Meg grabbed with avidity, calling down Heaven’s blessings on the handsome gentleman until Paul, running up-stairs, could hear no more.

Paul returned immediately to his father’s apartment, where Balcom was impatiently waiting for him.  He described minutely Old Meg, her eagerness for money, and the squalid quarters in which she lived.  The elder Balcom seemed satisfied and they left the apartment together.

“Paul,” directed Balcom, “get out to Brent Rock as soon as you can while I make arrangements with this Old Meg.”

Balcom stepped into his own car, while Paul hailed a taxicab, and a few minutes later Balcom alighted before the house of Old Meg.  He walked down the alley and descended into the den.

As before, Meg was in hiding in a dark corner until she could ascertain just who her visitor might be.  Seeing Balcom, she came out and courtesied and scraped as she had for Paul.