A FIRE-EATER
The Monday night party was in full swing. A stage had been erected and
the spectacle that was seen as the curtain rose was of "more than
Oriental splendour."
Heavy draperies, potted palms, strange braziers and lanterns, pillowed
divans,--all formed a brilliant and interesting picture of an Eastern
interior.
Richly garbed ladies sat at ease while slaves waved peacock feather fans
above their bejeweled heads. Stalwart men stood about, picturesque in
their embroidered tunics and voluminous mantles.
The movement of the scene increased. Slaves entered with baskets of
fruits, musicians came and made weird music, and dancing girls appeared
and gave graceful exhibitions of their art.
Patty was one of these. In a charming costume of thin, fluttering silks
and gauzy veils, she went through the slow swaying steps of a
characteristic dance, and enthralled the appreciative audience.
She had indeed achieved her desire to give her guests something
different from the average evening entertainment. The young men in khaki
and in blue, who sat watching, were breathlessly attentive and applauded
loudly and often.
The whole assemblage was gay and merry. The elder Fairfields were
excellent hosts, and chatted with the uniformed guests until even the
shy ones felt at ease. Roger and Mona Farrington, too, assisted in this
work of getting acquainted, and the result was a pleasant, chatty
atmosphere and not merely a silent audience.
"Good work!" said Roger, approvingly, to a khakied youth, as Patty
executed a difficult pirouette.
"You bet!" was the earnest reply. "I've seen some dancing, but never
anything to beat that! Is she on the regular stage?"
"Oh, no. She's the daughter of the house. But she's a born dancer and
has always loved the art."
"Don't wonder! She puts it all over anybody I ever saw! And the whole
colouring,--the scene, you know,--well, it'll be something to remember
when I'm back in camp. A thing like that stays in your mind, you know,
and I'll shut my eyes and see those furling pink veils as plain, 'most,
as I do now. What a beautiful girl she is."
His tone was almost reverential, and Roger instinctively liked the
simple straightforwardness of his comment.
"Yes, and as lovely as she is beautiful. She's engaged to a Captain, and
it's hard luck that he has to be away from her."
"It's all of that! Hullo, look who's here!"
Among the people on the stage there appeared a strange figure. It was a
man of swarthy countenance, garbed in pure white draperies, so full and
flowing, that he resembled the pictures of the prophets. He walked
slowly to the centre of the stage, and made deep salaams to the
characters there assembled, then turned and bowed low to the audience.
His snow-white, coiled turban almost swept the floor as he gracefully
bent in greeting. Then he rose, and began to chant a strange weird
incantation.
An assistant brought a small tripod filled with various paraphernalia,
and the juggler began his tricks.
They consisted of the most mystifying legerdemain and magical illusions,
for the performer, as Philip had assured Patty, was an expert, though
not a professional.
The soldier boys and sailor boys were delighted, and watched closely in
their desire to see how the tricks were done.
And this paved the way to their still greater satisfaction, for the
accommodating magician acceded to several urgent requests and explained
his tricks.
To be sure, it detracted from the mystery, but it added to the interest.
One of his startling deeds was this.
An attendant brought to the magician a small iron dish filled with
kerosene oil. With an eager smile, as of delighted anticipation, the
juggler, who spoke no word, made motions for his aid to light the oil.
This was done, and the flames proved it to be real oil and really
burning.
Then, taking an iron spoon, the magician dipped out a spoonful of the
blazing oil and putting it in his mouth swallowed it with great apparent
relish and enjoyment.
He nodded his head and smacked his lips in praise of this strange food,
and made a gesture of wanting more. Obligingly, the attendant offered
him the iron bowl again, and again a spoonful of blazing kerosene was
gobbled up by the hungry feeder.
"My stars!" cried one of the audience, "I've heard of fire-eaters, but I
never expected to see one! Have another dip, old chap!"
Smiling acquiescence, the juggler repeated his startling partaking of
the oil, and seemed to like it quite as much as ever.
"Well, I'll give up!" cried the interested observer, who had spoken
before. "Do tell us how you do that! I'd rather know that than eat a
square meal myself!"
Dropping for the moment his rôle of pantomimist, the juggler said, "I
will tell you, for it is an interesting trick. For years,--ages, even,
the Hindus mystified and deceived people by pretending to be
fire-eaters. The ignorant on-lookers, of course, believed that the
fakirs really ate fire,--hot coals, blazing oil, or burning tow.
"But as a matter of fact, it was all trickery, and deception of the
simplest kind. You must know the ignorant people of the Far East are
much more gullible and easily deceived than our own alert, up-to-date
modern and civilised citizens. And, yet, even among ourselves, it is not
easy to understand the fire-eating illusion. This is real kerosene, it
is really lighted, you have seen my apparent relish of it. Now can any
one explain how it is that I take spoonful after spoonful, yet my mouth
is not burnt?"
Nobody could guess, and one after another said so. The young men were
losing their shyness and self-consciousness in their interest.
"Spill it, boss," urged one, "give us the right dope!"
"Yes, I'd be glad to be informed as to the _modus operandi_," said
another, who was of a different mental type. Indeed, it was all sorts
and conditions of brains that were striving to see through this
absorbing problem.
Patty, still in her place on the stage, looked keenly into the upturned
faces.
"Dear, brave boys!" she thought to herself; "sooner or later, going
'over there' to fight for us and our cause! I am glad to give them a
little cheer and fun as occasion offers."
The elder Fairfields felt the same way, and all who were helping Patty
in her plan were conscious of a thrill of gratification at the success
of it, so far.
"I've seen it on the vaudeville stage in Paris," one different looking
youth spoke up. "It was slightly different in effect, but I suppose the
same principle obtained."
"Doubtless," agreed the juggler, whose name was Mr. Peckham. "Now, I'll
show you. The whole secret is that when I apparently take up a spoonful
of oil, in reality, I only dip the spoon in and out again. It comes out
blazing, to be sure, but really empty. It is merely the slight film of
oil adhering to the spoon that blazes. However, this is quite enough to
give the effect of a full spoon of kerosene on fire. Then, as I throw
back my head, as if to swallow this flaming fluid, I really blow out the
flame and I am careful not even to allow the hot spoon to touch my lips.
But the audience, if the trick is quickly done, see what they expect to
see. They are imbued with the idea that I am swallowing a spoonful of
burning kerosene, and they therefore think I do so. It is over in a
second,--I am swallowing, and smacking my lips, and it is taken for
granted that I have done the impossible."
"Huh!" said the youth who had "wanted to know."
"Yes," returned Mr. Peckham, laughing, "it's 'Huh!' after the secret is
told! No trick is as wonderful after it is explained as it is before."
"It is to me," said a more thoughtful man; "it's interesting to see how
a mere optical illusion is believed to be real by thinking and attentive
minds."
"Not only that," added Mr. Peckham, "but it's strange to realise how our
eyes see, or we think they see, what we expect to see. You anticipated
my fire-eating, you looked forward to seeing it, therefore, you thought
you did see it."
"That's it, sir! After all, it's a sort of camouflage."
"Exactly! I give you something that looks like fire-eating, and you
think it _is_ fire-eating! Exactly."
Then he performed many other tricks; tricks with cards or with other
paraphernalia; tricks with balls, swords, hats, all the usual branches
of "magic" and the enthralled audience were so entertained and
spellbound, that the time slipped by unheeded.
"Good gracious!" cried Patty suddenly, from her place on the stage,
"isn't it getting late?"
"It's half-past eleven," Roger informed her, from the audience.
"Then we must stop this magicking! I'm sorry, for I could watch it all
night, but there's more programme yet!"
"Cut it out!" cried a youthful chap in sailor blue; "give us more
hocus-pocus!"
"Not tonight," laughed Patty, and leaving her place, the whole tableau
began to break up and the gorgeously attired Orientals came down among
the audience and mingled as one group.
"I can't thank you enough," Patty said, pausing to speak to Mr. Peckham;
"it's so kind of you, and I've been so interested!"
"Oh, it's nothing," asserted the kind and genial man, "glad to do it for
Van Reypen's sake, for Our Boys' sake, and, most of all, Miss Fairfield,
for your sake!"
Patty rewarded him with her best smile and ran away to look after the
rest of her entertainment.
There was to have been music and some other matters, but it was now so
late that it was time for the supper.
This was a simple but very satisfying repast and the men in uniform
showed their appreciation of Patty's thoughtful kindness in this, as
well as in the mental entertainment.
"I say, Miss Fairfield," a stalwart young man observed, "if you knew
what all this means to us poor chaps, when we're miles removed from
chicken salad and ice cream, you'd feel gratified, I'm sure."
"I do, Mr. Herron; I am truly glad I can please you but more grateful to
you for your appreciation than you can possibly be for my invitation."
"Well, that's going some!" and the man laughed. "You see, Miss
Fairfield, it's like a glimpse of another world to a lot of us. It is to
me. Why, I come from out West, and I've never been in a home like this
of yours. Oh, I don't mean to say we don't have 'em out West,--lots of
our plutes roll in gold and all that. But _I_ didn't. I'm of the
every-day people, and my folks are good and honest, but plain. Not that
I'm ashamed of 'em,--Lord, no! But I own up I'm pleased as Punch at this
chance to be a guest in a fine house for once!"
"I hope not only for once, Mr. Herron," said Patty, who liked the frank
young fellow. "I'd like to have you come again."
"You oughtn't to invite me,--you ought to take a different lot every
time,--but, by jingo, if you _do_ ask me, I'm coming! You just bet I
am!"
Patty laughed and passed on talking gaily to this one and that, asking
questions about things they were interested in and conversant with, and
in all, being a charming and sympathetic little hostess.
Entertaining was Patty's forte, and she loved it. Moreover, she could
adapt herself with equal ease to the most aristocratic and high-bred
society or to the plainer and more commonplace people.
As for these boys, she loved them, partly because of her patriot spirit,
partly from her love of humanity, and largely because now that her own
Billee was in the war, all war people were dear to her.
After supper there was still time for a dance or two, and the guests
entered into this diversion with zest. Naturally, Patty had many
would-be partners, and she divided her dances in an effort to please
many.
Helen, too, was a general favourite. The young men liked the jolly girl
and pretty Bumble laughed and joked with them, promising to write
letters to them and knit comforts for them and to do numberless possible
and impossible things when they were back in their camps, or wherever
their duty led them.
Chester Wilde was present. He was an urgent suitor of Helen's, but
tonight he tried with all his energies to help Patty in the plan she had
undertaken.
At last, when most of the uniformed guests had departed, Wilde noticing
the tired expression in Patty's eyes, led her to a cosy sofa and advised
her to rest a little.
"I'll bring you some hot bouillon," he said, "and it will do you good.
Let the rest of the girls speed the few parting guests, and you sit here
and talk to me."
Patty agreed and soon they were affably chatting. As often, their talk
was of Helen.
"Doesn't she look pretty tonight?" young Wilde asked, his eyes straying
to the laughing face across the room.
"Yes, indeed, she always does," agreed Patty. "She's a darling thing,
too, Mr. Wilde, and you mustn't be down-hearted because she flouts you
sometimes. I know my little old Bumble pretty well and she's a great
little scamp for teasing the people she likes best."
"It would have been all right, I'm sure," said the young man, moodily,
"if she had stayed in Philadelphia. But here, there are so many men
about,--oh, I don't mean the uniformed men,--but a lot of others who are
here at your house now and then, that I can't help feeling Helen will
forget me."
"Nonsense! I won't let her. You trust your Aunt Patty! Why my middle
name is Tact!"
"I know it, Miss Fairfield, I know all that, and you're awfully good to
me, but,--oh, well, I s'pose I'm jealous."
"I s'pose you are," Patty laughed at him. "You wouldn't be any good if
you weren't! But you know, faint heart and all that. Don't be
faint-hearted, that's not the thing for a soldier, at all!"
"All right, I'll cheer up. You're a good friend, Miss Fairfield----"
"Oh, call me Patty, I'd rather you would."
"All right and thank you. First names for us, after this. Now don't
think me silly, but,--won't you do all you can to--to----"
"To turn our Helen's heart in your direction? Indeed I will, Chester,
and gladly. But, take my word for it, she likes you better than anybody
else, right now."
"Oh, Patty, do you think so?"
"I know so. Bumble,--Helen, I mean, is a dear, but she isn't quite sure
of her own mind. Oh, don't you worry, Chester, my friend, all will yet
be well."
"But look at her now. She's terribly taken with that chap named Herron.
See her look at him!"
"The green-eyed monster has you in his grip, for sure! Come on, let's go
and see what they're talking about."
Patty rose and Chester followed her to where Helen and Philip Van Reypen
were eagerly talking to Mr. Herron.
"Yes," Herron was saying, "to train a thousand aviators usually means
the smashing of more than a thousand machines. Why, every learner breaks
up one or two airplanes before he's a flyer."
"Really!" said Helen, her eyes big with interest. "And how much do these
airplanes cost?"
"Oh, about seven thousand dollars apiece."
"They do! What a fearful expense for the government!"
"The government does have fearful expenses, Miss Barlow,--or so I've
heard."
"But that's something awful, old man," put in Van Reypen. "I'm going to
be a flyer, and I'll begin training soon. That's why I'm so keen on
questioning you. Do I go up in the air at once?"
"No, sir. You begin on a machine that stays on _terra firma_."
"Then it isn't a flying machine at all," observed Patty, as she and
Chester joined the others.
"Well, it is, except that it doesn't fly! But one learns all the motions
on it, and the controls and the handling of winds,--and, oh, quite a few
things about it. Then later on, one goes up----"
"What a sensation it must be!" cried Patty; "I'm just crazy to try it.
May I go up with you, Phil, as soon as you've learned?"
"Not until I _have_ learned. You'll take no chances with a novice, I can
tell you."
"But I don't see," said Helen, "how a machine on the ground is anything
like one in the air."
"It's difficult to explain," returned Herron. "But, you see, jets of air
are blown through tubes, that simulate the currents of real air that
affect the man higher up."
"Too many for me!" declared Helen, "my little two-cent brain refuses to
grasp it!"
"We'll go down to see Philip perform as soon as he knows enough to show
off," declared Patty. "Won't that be fun, Helen?"
"Yes; may we, Philip?"
"After I'm ready to show off, yes."
"Oh, you vainy!" cried Helen. "Never mind, we don't want to see you when
you're just flying on the floor!"
"I really must fly from here," laughed Mr. Herron. "Such a gorgeous
time, Miss Fairfield. May I come again?"
"Oh, I wish you would! Don't wait for a special invitation,--come at any
time."
"He will," Van Reypen said, "I'll bring him. He and I will be
associated, I find, in the Aviation Training Camp, and we'll often run
up together,--mayn't we, Patty?"
"Yes, indeed; as often as you can manage to!"