"Better give me your hat," said the secretary, and took it from Adam,
who parted from it reluctantly, as if from his last reliable friend.
Then the portieres swished together, and Adam was alone with Balsamo.
Balsamo stared at him; did not even ask him to sit down.
"Why do you come to me? You don't believe in me," said Balsamo, curtly.
"Why waste your money?"
"How can I tell whether I believe in you or not," protested Adam
Tellwright, the shrewd man of business, very lamely. "I've come to see
what you can do."
Balsamo snapped his fingers.
"Sit down then," said he, "and put your hands on this cushion.
No!--palms up!"
Balsamo gaped at them a long time, rubbing his chin. Then he rose,
adjusted the transparent glass ball so that the light came through it on
to Adam's hands, sat down again and resumed his stare.
"Do you want to know everything?" he asked.
"Yes--of course."
"Everything?"
"Yes." A trace of weakness in this affirmative.
"Well, you mustn't expect to live much after fifty-two. Look at the line
of life there." He spoke in such a casual, even antipathetic tone that
Adam was startled.
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