red fifty gram middleweight over
there at the other table run his fingers down a weight before he
lifted. We all do it. It helps the grip."

[Illustration]

"_You_ never do," she accused me.

"On the big ones, Evaleen, sure I do. I'm a little sneaky about it,
but I usually get a touch. Try a bigger ball."

* * * * *

I looked around the gym while my encouragement helped her. No one was
paying us any special attention, and I saw none of the better known
telepaths in the room. That didn't mean too much, for any number of
the TP's in the Manhattan Chapter had good range.

Evaleen was getting good lifts on the one-gram ball when I slipped her
the question: "You said it was dynamite," I said, and closed my mind
to the thought.

Her lift broke. "I'm worried about the old goat in the penthouse,
Lefty," she said in a low tone. It didn't make any difference. She
might as well have shouted if a TP were peeping her. I took up for her
with the pith balls and had them hopping up and down discreetly, just
as though she were still working at her lifts with my coaching.

"You been life-lining again?" I hazarded, largely because of what
Pheola had said about Maragon's having a heart attack.

"Yes, and he's going to be sick--I feel it very strongly."

"Die?"

"He'll outlive me," she said, more glumly than ever. I knew she could
not predict past the span of her own life.

"And how long is that?" I needled.

"You can count my time in years, but not enough of them," she said,
irritated that I had asked her about her own span. I knew I shouldn't
have said it. She had read her own future and found it wanting. "But
death hovers close in it," she went on. "You know I don't get clear
pictures, Lefty, just a feeling. Death is very, very close. And you
are in it."

"And who else?" I pressed her.

"No one I ever met," she said, telling me another limitation of her
powers.

"Perhaps I can cure that, Evaleen," I said, letting the last ball
drop. More loudly I added: "You get better every day. You could
qualify for the second degree if you can do as well under standardized
conditions."

"Yes," she agreed. "We've talked enough. You will act on it?"

"Oddly," I said, "I already have. You confirm what another PC says.
I'll have you meet her."

"You will not," she said. "I can't stand PC's!"

"Now try that big one," I said, pointing to a small brass weight of
two grams on the table.

She touched