‘Shocking,’ said the young man. ‘Very bad taste on someone’s part.
Rotten marksmanship, too,’ he added, after some consideration. ‘I
suppose he’s travelling for health now, like me?’
The Turk bent nearer and assumed a more confidential tone.
‘They say,’ he mumbled, in an unsuccessful attempt to keep his voice
down, ‘that it was all young Marlowe Lobbett could do to get his father
to come to Europe at all. I admire a man like that, a man who’s not
afraid of what’s coming to him.’
‘Oh, quite!’ said the young man mildly. ‘The neat piece of modern
youthing with the old gentleman is the son you spoke of, I suppose?’
The Turk nodded.
‘That’s right, and the girl sitting on his other side is his daughter.
That very black hair gives them a sort of distinction. Funny that the
boy should be so big and the girl so small. She takes after her mother,
one of the Edwardeses of Tennessee, you know.’
‘When’s the concert going to begin?’
The Turk smiled. He felt he had consummated the acquaintanceship at
last.
‘My name is Barber,’ he said. ‘Ali Fergusson Barber—a rather stupid
joke of my parents, I have always thought.’
He looked inquiringly at his companion, hoping for a similar exchange of
confidence, but he was unrewarded. The young man appeared to have
forgotten all about him, and presently to the Oriental’s complete
disgust, he drew a small white mouse from the pocket of his jacket and
began to fondle it in his hands. Finally he held it out for Mr Barber’s
inspection.
‘Rather pretty, don’t you think?’ he said. ‘One of the cabin boys lent
it to me. He keeps it to remind him of his brother, Haig. He calls it
Haig, after him.’
Mr Barber looked down his immense nose at the little creature, and edged
away from it.
The young man said no more, for already a very golden-haired lady with
pince-nez was playing the Sixth Hungarian Rhapsody with a certain amount
of acid gusto.
Her performance was greeted with only mild enthusiasm, and the Turk
overcame his repugnance to the noise sufficiently to lean over and
inform the young man that there were several stage stars travelling and
no doubt the programme would improve as it went on. For some time,
however, his optimism was unrewarded.
At length the fussy, sandy-haired young man who was superintending the
performance came forward with the announcement that Satsuma, the
world-famous Japanese conjurer, was to perform some of his most
celebrated illusions, and the audience’s patience was craved while the
stage was made ready for him.
For the first time Mr Barber’s companion seemed to take an intelligent
interest in the proceedings and he joined enthusiastically in the
applause.
‘I’m potty about conjurers,’ he remarked affably. ‘Haig will like it
too, I fancy. I’m most interested to see the effect upon him.’
Mr Barber smiled indulgently.
‘You are making jokes,’ he said naïvely.
The young man shot him a quick glance from behind his spectacles. ‘I do
a little conjuring myself,’ he went on confidentially. ‘And I once knew
a man who could always produce a few potatoes out of the old topper, or
a half bottle of Bass. He once got in some champagne that way, but it
wasn’t much of a brand. Hullo! what’s going on up there?’
He peered at the platform with childlike interest.
Several enthusiastic amateurs, aided by an electrician, were engaged in
setting up the magician’s apparatus on the small stage. The piano had to
be moved to make way for the great ‘disappearing’ cabinet, and the
audience watched curiously while the cables were connected and the
various gaily-coloured cupboards and boxes were set in position.
The magician himself was directing operations from behind a screen, and
at length, when the last scene-shifter had departed, he came forward and
bowed ceremoniously.
He was tall for a Japanese, and dark-skinned, with a clever face much
too small for him.
Mr Barber nudged the young man at his side.
‘Old Lobbett doesn’t let his troubles damp his interest, does he?’ he
rumbled, as he glanced across the room to where the man who had been the
subject of so much speculation sat forward in his chair. His keenness
and excitement were almost childlike, and after a moment or two,
dissatisfied with his view of the stage, he left his seat and walked up
to the front row, where he stood watching. Mr Barber’s companion made no
comment. He appeared to be engrossed in his small pet mouse, which he
held up, apparently with the idea of allowing the little animal to watch
the performance.
The magician began with one or two sleight-of-hand tricks, presenting
each illusion with a topical patter.
‘Very clever. Very clever,’ murmured Mr Barber in his stentorian
undertone. ‘They say those tricks are handed down from generation to
generation. I think it’s all done with mirrors myself.’
His acquaintance did not reply. He was sitting bolt upright, staring at
the stage through his heavy glasses.
Satsuma produced ducks, goldfish, pigeons, and even a couple of Japanese
ladies, with amazing dexterity, and the distressing Mr Barber beat his
fat hands together delightedly, while far across the room old Lobbett
also was clearly enchanted.
Eventually the magician came forward to the front of the tiny stage and
made the announcement which always preceded his most famous trick.
‘Ladies and gentlemen,’ he began, ‘it has only been by the kind
co-operation of the electrical staff on board that I am now able to show
you this most remarkable trick—the greatest I have ever performed.’
He stepped back a pace or two and tapped the huge disappearing cabinet
which had taken up the greater part of the stage during his entire act.
He touched a button hidden in the moulding, and immediately the cabinet
was illuminated until it glowed all over in a series of diagonal designs
of light.
The Japanese beamed upon his audience.
‘By the aid of this cabinet,’ he said, ‘I will make to disappear not
just one of my assistants, but any one of you who will come up and help
me.’ He paused to let his full meaning sink in upon his audience. ‘I
will make them to disappear and to reappear,’ he went on. ‘And if, after
the experience, any one of them can explain how the miracle was
performed, then’—with a great gesture of solemnity—‘I throw myself
into the sea.’
He waited until the polite laughter had subsided, and then went on
briskly.
‘Who will come first? You, sir, you?’ he added, pointing out Mr Barber,
who was by far the most conspicuous person before him.
The Turk shook his head and laughed.
‘Ah! no, my boy. No. I am too old for these adventures.’
The Japanese smiled and passed on. The pale young man in the spectacles
jumped up, however.
‘I’ll disappear,’ he said, in his somewhat foolish voice. ‘I think Haig
would like to,’ he murmured to the Oriental by way of explanation.
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