"Permit me to be the judge of my own five senses, Eunice, if you
please."

"That's just it, Miss Ames," spoke up Hendricks. "Is your
psychic information, or whatever it is, discernible to your five
senses, or any of them?"

"Of course, or how could I realize the presence of the psychic
forces?"

"I don't know just what those things are, but I supposed they
were available only to a sort of sixth sense--or seventh! Why, I
have five senses, but I don't lay claim to any more than that."

"You're a trifler, and I decline to discuss the subject seriously
with you. You've always been a trifler, Alvord--remember, I've
known you from boyhood, and though you've a brilliant brain, you
have not utilized it to the best advantage."

"Sorry, ma'am," and the handsome face put on a mock penitence,
"but I'm too far advanced in years to pull up now."

"Nonsense! you're barely thirty! That's a young man."

"Not nowadays. They say, after thirty, a man begins to fall to
pieces, mentally."

"Oh, Al, what nonsense!" cried Eunice. "Why, thirty isn't even
far enough along to be called the prime of life!"