The subdued, white-faced boy of twelve, with hair like his mother's, who trotted closely at her heels was, for the moment, a negligible factor.
An hour later I entered the sanctum of the _Argus_, to find its owner alone before his littered table.

Upon his usually careless face was the most profoundly thoughtful look I had ever known him wear.

Open before him was that week's _Argus_, but his eyes narrowed to its neat columns only at intervals.

For the most part his gaze plunged far into virgin realms of meditation.

It was only after several reminding coughs that I succeeded in recalling him from afield; and even then the deeply thoughtful look remained to estrange his face from me.
"Say, Cal, do you believe in _powers_ ?" "What kind of powers ?" "Well, I don't know--every kind--just _powers_--mystic, occult powers." "I don't care to commit myself without more details," I answered with a caution that seemed to be needed.
"Well, sir, that woman has 'em--she has _powers_--she certainly has.
There is something in her eye that paralyzes the will; you look at her and you say yes to anything she suggests." "For example--" "Well, I've just agreed with her that the _Argus_ isn't what it ought to be." I gasped.