They pretend to wisdom, knowledge, and genius that they don't possess.

They fake up a lot of patter talk and pass it off for philosophy, or psychology, or lord knows what! And there isn't an ounce of brains in the whole fool bunch of them! That's what makes me mad! They fool you into believing their drivel is wisdom, and it isn't!" "How do you know?
You haven't such a lot of that sort of knowledge yourself." "What sort of knowledge ?" "Soul lore----" "Patty! Don't you ever use the word _soul_ in the silly way they do! You have a soul, of course,--an immortal soul.

But they don't mean that.

By soul, they mean a puffball of hifalutin ideas, of nonsense about the occult and psychic, and all that balderdash.

Oh, Patty, my little girl, _don't_ let those idiot people carry away your common sense and your plain everyday sanity! Don't, I beg of you!" "Look here, Phil," and Patty stared at him, thoughtfully; "I'm to give you an answer to a certain question in about a fortnight, I believe." "You are, my Blessed Darling! To be exact, on the fifteenth of December, this present month, you are to admit,--blushingly, if you like, but unequivocally,--that I'm the one man in the world for you." "Don't be too sure.