"
"I am going," said Grish Chunder.
He drew me into the lobby as he departed.
"That is your man," he said, quickly. "I tell you he will never speak
all you wish. That is rot-bosh. But he would be most good to
make to see things. Suppose now we pretend that it was only
play"--I had never seen Grish Chunder so excited--"and pour the
ink-pool into his hand. Eh, what do you think? I tell you that he
could see _anything_ that a man could see. Let me get the ink and the
camphor. He is a seer and he will tell us very many things."
"He may be all you say, but I'm not going to trust him to your Gods
and devils."
"It will not hurt him. He will only feel a little stupid and dull when
he wakes up. You have seen boys look into the ink-pool before."
"That is the reason why I am not going to see it any more. You'd
better go, Grish Chunder."
He went, declaring far down the staircase that it was throwing
away my only chance of looking into the future.
This left me unmoved, for I was concerned for the past, and no
peering of hypnotized boys into mirrors and ink-pools would help
me do that.
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