The Crystal Ball

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The Crystal Ball Page 12

by Roy J. Snell


  CHAPTER XII JEANNE'S FORTUNE

  Next morning it was arranged that Jeanne should go unaccompanied to thefortune teller on Clark Street. Florence would be loitering on thestreet, not too far away.

  Jeanne, as she started forth on this exciting little journey, cut a realfigure. She had put on her finest silk dress. White gloves that reachedto her elbows were on her hands. Her hat was from one of the bestMichigan Avenue shops. And, to make sure that she would be taken for a"little daughter of the rich," she had borrowed the famous artist's verybest fur coat.

  "Ah!" she breathed, "it is wonderful to be quite rich!"

  The place on Clark Street surprised her a little. A plain dwelling withancient brownstone front, it suggested nothing of the mysterious orsupernatural. Inside it was no better. A sign read, "Knock on the door."The door in question was a glass door that had been painted a solidbrown.

  Jeanne knocked timidly. The door opened a crack, and a feminine voicesaid, "Y-e-s?"

  The eyes that shone out from the narrow opening registered surprise. Sucha gorgeous apparition as Jeanne presented in the borrowed coat,apparently had seldom crossed that threshold.

  "Dorothy Burns, who sells rare stamps at the Arcade, told me howwonderful you are," Jeanne murmured wistfully.

  This was a well-memorized speech. She was at that moment recallingFlorence's last words before they parted.

  "The fortune teller will not ask your name or address. Don't give them toher. She _will_, under one pretext or another, ask the name and addressof some person whom you know, quite probably a rather humble person.However that may be, give her my name and address. Give her our telephonenumber, too, and tell her I am always in between three and four in theafternoon." Jeanne smiled in spite of herself, recalling these words.

  But the fortune teller was saying, "Won't you come in, please? There now.Shall I take your coat? You wanted a reading? Is that not so? My verybest readings are two dollars."

  Jeanne removed her coat and placed it upon the back of the chair offeredher. She produced two crisp one-dollar bills.

  "Ah!" The round face of the fortune teller shone. "You are to have a verywonderful future, I can see that at once."

  "I--I hope so." Jeanne appeared to falter. "You see--" she leaned forwardeagerly. "I have been--well, quite fortunate un--until just lately. Andnow--" her eyes dropped. "Now things are not so good! And I--you know,I'm worried!"

  Jeanne _was_ worried, all about that gorgeous coat. She hoped Florencewas near and perhaps a policeman as well, but she need have had no fear.

  Florence was near, very near. Having slipped through the outer door, shehad found a seat in the dimly lighted corridor. There was a corner in theplastered wall just beyond her. From behind this there floated faint,childish whispers.

  At last a face appeared, a slim pinched face surrounded by a mass ofuncombed hair. A second face peeked out, then a third.

  "Come here," Florence beckoned. Like birds drawn reluctantly forward bysome charm, the three unkempt children glided forward until they stoodbeside her chair.

  "Who are you?" Florence whispered.

  "I'm Tillie," the largest girl whispered back. "She's Fronie, and he'sDick. Our mother's gone away. Myrtle takes care of us, sort of like."

  "We--we're going to have ice cream and cake for dinner!" Fronie burstforth in a loud whisper. "The beautiful lady gave Myrtle two wholedollars. We always have ice cream and cake when Myrtle gets a dollar.This time it's two." The child's pathetic face shone.

  Within, Myrtle Rand, the fortune teller, was saying to Jeanne:

  "You may shuffle the cards. Now cut them twice with your right hand.That's it.

  "Now--one, two, three, four, five, six; and one, two, three, four, five,six. I see a change in your life. I think you will go to California. Yes,it is California. One, two, three, four, five, six." She spread out athird row of cards, then paused to study Jeanne's face intently.

  "Your hair is beautifully done," she said in a low tone. "Who does it foryou?"

  "You--you mean you'd like her address?" Jeanne started. How nearlyFlorence's words were coming true!

  "Yes, yes I would." There was eagerness in the fortune teller's tone.Then, as if she had been surprised into revealing too much, she added,"But then it does not matter too much. You see I have a daughter who hasa very good position and--"

  "She might like to try my hair-dresser," Jeanne supplemented. "Here, I'llwrite it down."

  With the pencil proffered her she scribbled down a name and address. Thename was Florence Huyler and the address that of their studio. Then shesmiled a puzzling smile.

  Outside, Florence was saying to Tillie, "How do you know the beautifullady has given Myrtle two dollars?"

  "We--we--we saw them through the crack," Fronie sputtered. "Two wholedollars! Mostly it's only quarters and sometimes dimes that Myrtle getsfor telling 'em things. Then we have bread that is dry and hard andsometimes soup that is all smelly."

  "Myrtle, she's good to us," the older child confided. "Good as she canbe. But the rent man comes every week and says, 'Pay, or out you go!' Soall the quarters get gone!"

  "For a quarter Myrtle, she tells 'em their husbands will come back nextweek, and some day they'll have money, plenty of money." The little girlleaned forward eagerly and confidingly.

  "But for two whole dollars--o-o-oh, my, what a swell fortune! She--"

  Just then the outer door opened. A shabbily dressed woman, carrying abundle that looked like a washing she was taking home to be done, came inand dropped wearily into a chair. Her eyes lighted for an instant withhope as she stared at the closed door, then faded.

  The children vanished. A moment later a second drab creature entered, andafter that a third.

  "All working women," Florence thought, "and all ready to part with ahard-earned quarter that they may listen to rosy prophecies about theirfuture." She found her spirits sinking. She hoped Jeanne's fortune wouldbe a short one.

  It was not short. The cards were shuffled three times. Then the crystalball on the table was gazed into. Jeanne's fortune grew and grew. "I seefine clothes and a big car for you. You will go to California. Yes, yes,I am sure of that. And money--much money. You have rich relatives. Is itnot so? And they are quite old." Myrtle Rand went on and on.

  At last Jeanne said, "I--I think I must go now."

  "But you will return?" Myrtle Rand's tone was eager. "There is much moreto be told. Very much more. Next time I will tell of your past. I shalltell you many strange things. It will surprise you."

  Jeanne managed to slip from the room without committing herself. A momentlater the poor woman with the large bundle took her place before thecrystal ball.

  "Well," Jeanne laughed low as she and Florence walked into the brightlight of day, "I have a very rosy future! I am to have all that heartcould desire--love, money, automobiles, travel, everything!"

  "And next time you are going to be very much surprised," Florence added.

  "How did you know that?" Jeanne stared. "You can't have heard."

  "No, but it's true nevertheless."

  "And you," Jeanne laughed afresh, "you are now my hair-dresser. You areto be at home between three and four o'clock tomorrow afternoon. Why youmade me tell that fib is something I don't at all understand."

  "You will," Florence laughed merrily. Then, "Here's our car. Let'shurry."

  Next day Miss Mabee and Jeanne journeyed to Maxwell Street in search ofBihari and his gypsy blacksmith shop. Jeanne carried a stool and foldingeasel, Miss Mabee her box of beautiful colors and her brushes.

  It was a lovely winter's day. Even the drab shops of Maxwell Streetseemed gay.

  Bihari's shop was not hard to find. Miss Mabee fell in love with it atonce. "Long and narrow. Plenty of light, but not too much. The veryplace!" was her joyous commendation. "And here are the women!"

  Sure enough, there was a group of women patiently waiting to have theirpots and pans repaired.

>   "But where are the children?" she asked.

  For answer Bihari stepped to the door, put two fingers to his lips, blewa loud blast, and behold, as if by magic the place swarmed with children.

  "This one. That one. This, and that one." Miss Mabee selected her castquickly.

  Disappointed but not in the least rebellious, the remainder of the bandmoved away. The shop door was closed and work began.

  Never had Jeanne experienced greater happiness than now. To be theconstant companion of a famous artist--what more could one ask? It wasnot so much that Marie Mabee was famous. Jeanne was no merehero-worshiper. The thing that counted most was their wonderfulassociation. Somehow Jeanne felt the power, the sense of skill that wasMiss Mabee's flowing in her own veins. And now that she, for the time,was not the model, but the onlooker, she experienced this sense of freshpower to a far greater degree.

  To sit in a remote corner of Bihari's long narrow shop, to witness theskill with which Miss Mabee assembled the cast for a great picture, ah,that was something! To watch her skilful fingers as by some strange magicshe placed a daub of color here, another there, twisted her brush hereand twirled it there, sent it gliding here, gliding there, until, likethe slow coming of a glorious dawn, there grew a picture showing Bihari,the powerful gypsy blacksmith, the ragged gypsy children, the anxioushousewives, all in one group that seemed to glorify toil. Ah, that wasglory indeed!

  Jeanne would never be a painter, she knew this well enough. Yet she hadsensed a great fact, that all true art is alike, that a painter drawsinspiration and fresh power from a great musician, that a novelistlistens to a symphony and goes home to write a better book, that even adancer does her part in the world more skilfully because of herassociation with a famous painter. So Jeanne basked in the light thatMiss Mabee spread about her and was gloriously happy.

  In the meantime Florence was keeping an appointment on the telephone and,to all appearances having a grand time of it. She was saying:

  "Yes, yes--yes, indeed!--Oh, yes, very rich.--And old. Oh, quite old,perhaps eighty--Famous?--Oh, surely, terribly famous.--Glorious pictures.Yes--In Hollywood? She hasn't told me for sure. But yes, I think so."

  This went on for a full ten minutes. From time to time she put a handover the mouth-piece while she indulged in peals of laughter. Then,sobering, she would go on with her conversation.

  When the thing was all over, the receiver hung up, she went into one morefit of laughter, then said as she slowly walked across the floor, "That'sgreat! I wonder how many of them do it just that way? Perhaps all ofthem, and just think how they can rake in the money if they go after itin a big way!"

  A big way? Her face sobered. That beautiful girl, June Travis, had mether once more at the newspaper office. She had confided to her thatMadame Zaran had asked her for a thousand dollars.

  "A thousand dollars!" Florence had exclaimed. "For what?"

  "To tell me where my father is." She turned a puzzled face towardFlorence. "Why not? If you were all alone in the world and if you hadeven a great deal of money, wouldn't you give it all just to get yourfather back?"

  "Yes, perhaps," Florence replied slowly, "if they really did bring himback."

  "Oh, they will!" the girl exclaimed. "They will! Madame Zaran knows atruly great man in the east. He has done wonderful things. His fees arehigh. But great lawyers, great surgeons ask large fees too. So," shesighed, "if my father is not found before I get my money, I shall paythem."

  "Yes, and perhaps much more," Florence thought with an inward groan. "Buther father shall be found. He must be, and that in natural ways. Hereally must!

  "But how?" Her spirits drooped. How? Truly that was the question.

  A key in the door startled her from her troubled thoughts. It was Jeanneback from Maxwell Street.

  "Did you find that thieving gypsy?" Florence asked.

  "No, but we did a glorious sketch of Bihari in his shop."

  "But what of the poor widow? She can't eat your pictures."

  "N-no." Jeanne put on a sad face. "I shall find her for you, though!Perhaps tomorrow."

  "Tomorrow," said Florence with a lightning-like change to a lighter mood,"you shall go to that place on North Clark Street and have your past aswell as your future told.

  "And," she added with a chuckle, "lest you be too much surprised by yourfortune, I will say this much: Myrtle Rand will tell you that you have agrandfather who is very old and very rich--"

  "But, Florence, I have no grandfather. I--"

  Florence held up a hand for silence. "As for yourself, she will tell youthat you have been a gay deceiver, that you are a truly famous youngartist, a painter of landscapes, a--"

  "But, my dear, I--"

  "Yes, I know. But how can I help that? This is to be your past andfuture. If you don't like the future, you may ask her to change it. Butwhat is done is done! You can't change your past!

  "As for your future," she went on, grinning broadly, "you are to journeyto Hollywood. There you shall be employed by a great moving picturecompany simply to plan magnificent backgrounds against which the world'sgreatest moving picture dramas are to be played."

  By this time Jeanne was so dazed that she had no further questions toask.

  "Only tomorrow will tell," she sighed as she sank into a chair.

 

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