Mr.
Carr leered at him:
"That tentacle," he explained, "is now seeking some invisible, wireless,
psychic current along which it is to transmit the accumulated psychic
waves. As soon as the wireless current finds the subconscious personality
of the woman you are destined to love and marry some day----"
"I?" exclaimed young Yates, horrified.
"Yes, you. Why not? Do you mind my trying it on you?"
"But I am already in love," protested the young man, turning, as usual, a
ready red. "I don't care to have you try it on me. Suppose that machine
should connect me with--some other--girl----"
"It has!" cried Carr with a hideous laugh as a point of bluish-white fire
tipped the tentacle for an instant. "You're tied fast to something
feminine! Probably a flossy typewriter--or a burlesque actress--somebody
you're fitted for, anyway!" He clapped on his monocle, and glared
gleefully at the stupefied young man.
"That will teach you to enter my premises and hold my daughter's hand
when she is drawing innocent pictures of Cooper's Bluff!" he shouted.
"That will teach you to write poems to my eighteen-year-old daughter,
Drusilla; that will teach you to tell her you are in love with her--you
young pup!"
"I am in love with her!" said Yates, undaunted; but he was very white
when he said it. "I do love her; and if you had behaved halfway decently
I'd have told you so two weeks ago!"
Mr.
Pages:
144
145
146
147
148
149
150
151
152
153
154
155
156
157
158
159
160
161
162
163
164
165
166
167
168