"'M U S Q U O D O B O I T.'"

Peters stared blankly. Not more blankly than the majority of the audience, however, including Kate herself. She turned toward Jack. He appeared as surprised as Peters. Indeed, if there was anything suspicious, it was that Jack appeared a trifle over-astonished.

As the burst of applause which followed the first surprise was succeeded by a wave of laughter, Kate turned back to discover Peters, very red in the face, drawing on the board a picture. As she looked a grotesquely ugly face took shape. The face completed, there was a renewed burst of merriment when Peters topped it with a fool's-cap, and on that sketched rough hieroglyphics.

"Now whose picture have I drawn?" he demanded loudly.

"Well, you tried to draw mine," responded the professor, dropping into normal English, "but as the dunce's tie is far up the back of his collar, I leave the audience to decide whose it is."

At this there were shouts and shrieks of laughter, and Peters, hurriedly feeling, and finding his own tie far out of place, threw the chalk to the floor and dashed back to his seat amid a perfect bedlam of hilarity.

The uproar soon subsided, however, for not one in the crowded room but was now thoroughly wonderstruck at the demonstration. Some of the older people began to step forward, writing the most difficult names they could think of, meaningless words, groups of figures. A teacher chalked a proposition in algebra. Without error all were called out promptly.

The climax was reached when one of the church elders advanced to the board, and while writing, fixed his eyes on something in his half-opened hand.

Without hesitation the blindfolded unknown announced, "Mr. Storey is writing the name of one of the Apostles, but is thinking of a penknife."

The clapping which followed was scattered and brief. "It's simply uncanny," exclaimed one of Kate's neighbors. Kate, glancing back toward Jack, shook her head. Up there, in full view, she could not possibly see how he could have anything to do with it.

At this point the minister again stepped forward. "Will you answer a few questions?" he scrawled.

"With pleasure, Mr. Borden."

"How old am I?"

"Forty-nine next September."

The minister ran his fingers through his hair, perplexedly.

"How old is Mrs. Borden?"

There was a slight pause, then in gallant tones came the answer, "Twenty-two."

Amid a renewal of laughter, and much clapping from the ladies, the minister was about to turn away, when on second thought he turned back, and wrote:

"Name the twelve Apostles."

For the first time the learned seer displayed signs of uneasiness. After some stumbling, however, he completed the list.

With a twinkle in his eyes, the preacher inscribed a second question, "Name Joshua's captains."

Prof. Click cleared his throat, ran his fingers down his beard, moved uneasily in his chair, and at length, while a smile began to spread over the room, shook his head.

"But I am thinking of them--hard," declared the minister, chuckling.

The professor was again about to shake his head, when suddenly he paused, then replied boldly, "Shem, Ham, Hezekiah, Hitt.i.te, Peter, Goliath, Solomon and Pharaoh."

It was during the shouts of merriment following this ridiculous response that Kate's mystification began to dissolve. Glancing again toward her brother, she saw that, despite a show of laughing, there was an uneasiness in his face similar to that shown by the professor. And when presently she saw him cast a covertly longing eye toward a pile of Bibles in the next window, she turned back to the platform, silently laughing.

She thought she had discovered the source of the "thought waves."

The success of the brazenly invented answer to the last question, meantime, had quite restored the professor's confidence, and as the minister went on, he continued to respond in the same ridiculous fashion, claiming, on the minister's protest, that he was only reading the thought-waves as they came to him. And finally the pastor laughingly gave it up.

At the next, and final, "demonstration" mystification of another kind came to the observant Kate. Rising to his feet, the mind-reader announced that he would now inform a few of the "stronger thinkers" before him the subject of their thoughts; and both in his manner and tone Kate noted an unmistakable nervousness. Glancing toward Jack, she saw that his face also was grave, and with a stirring of apprehension of she knew not what, she waited.

"The first thought which reaches me," began the professor, "is from Miss Mary Andrews. Miss Andrews thinks her pretty toque is on straight. It's not quite. I think one pin is coming out."

Following this laughingly applauded "reading," the speaker informed Miss James that she was thinking her lace collar was not loose behind. "Which was quite correct." As also was Mr. Storey's impression that there was not a long blond hair on his coat collar. "There was not."

Then Kate distinctly saw the speaker take a deep breath.

"Mr. Joseph Potter is a strong thinker," he proceeded. "I read several thoughts from Mr. Potter."

The old farmer, to whom the whole performance had appeared as nothing less than magic, leaned out into the aisle, breathless and staring.

"It seems to me, Mr. Potter," the mind-reader went on, "it seems to me you are thinking about some important business deal--some big deal concerning land."

The old man's mouth opened.

"Also it seems to me that this land may be worth a great deal more than--"

There was an exclamation, a commotion, and Burke, the real estate man, was on his feet. A moment he stood staring, as though doubting his ears, then catching up his hat he said in a loud voice, "Come, Mr. Potter, we must go. That other engagement, you know--I had forgotten it."

The old man sprang up, and brushed Burke aside. "Go on! Go on!" he cried toward the figure on the platform. The startled audience gazed from one to another. Several arose.

"It seems to me," resumed Alex quietly, "that there is a waterfall on your farm, and that--"

"Hold on there! Hold on!" The words came in a shout, and springing into the aisle, Burke strode toward the platform, purple with rage. "What do you mean? What are you doing?

"Who is this man?" he demanded at the top of his lungs. "I demand to know! What does he mean by--?"

Swiftly hobbling down the aisle behind him, the old man attempted to pa.s.s. Roughly Burke pushed him back.

The minister stepped forward. "Mr. Burke, what do you mean?"

"What does this man here mean by--by--"

"Yes, by what, Mr. Burke?"

"By making reflections against me," shouted Burke. "I demand an explanation! I--"

"But my dear sir, I am sure nothing was said--"

The old man dodged by, ran to the edge of the platform, and cried in a thin, high voice, "Do you mean my farm? My farm that Burke wants to buy?"

There was a momentary silence, during which here and there could be heard long in-drawn gasps. Then abruptly Alex tore the bandage from his eyes, swept off the hat and beard, and stepped to the front.

"There need be no further mystery about this," he declared in a grimly steady voice. "On the train this morning Jack Orr and I accidentally overheard--"