JOE STRONG
THE BOY WIZARD
OR
_THE MYSTERIES OF MAGIC EXPOSED_
BY
VANCE BARNUM
Author of “Joe Strong on the Trapeze,” “Joe Strong, the Boy Fish,” “Joe
Strong on the High Wire,” “Joe Strong and His Wings of Steel,” etc.
WHITMAN PUBLISHING CO.
RACINE, WISCONSIN
BOOKS FOR BOYS
BY
VANCE BARNUM
THE JOE STRONG SERIES
JOE STRONG, THE BOY WIZARD
_Or, The Mysteries of Magic Exposed_
JOE STRONG ON THE TRAPEZE
_Or, The Daring Feats of a Young Circus Performer_
JOE STRONG, THE BOY FISH
_Or, Marvelous Doings in a Big Tank_
JOE STRONG ON THE HIGH WIRE
_Or, Motor-Cycle Perils of the Air_
JOE STRONG AND HIS WINGS OF STEEL
_Or, A Young Acrobat in the Clouds_
JOE STRONG—HIS BOX OF MYSTERY
_Or, The Ten Thousand Dollar Prize Trick_
JOE STRONG, THE BOY FIRE EATER
_Or, The Most Dangerous Performance on Record_
COPYRIGHT, 1916
GEORGE SULLY & COMPANY
Printed by
WESTERN PRINTING & LITHOGRAPHING CO.
Racine, Wisconsin
Printed in U. S. A.
JOE STRONG, THE BOY WIZARD
CHAPTER I
JOE SOLVES A PUZZLE
“How did he do it? That’s what I’d like to know.”
“So would I. It sure was a queer trick all right—and it looked so easy,
too.”
“Well, I’ve tried to guess, but I can’t. The more I think of it the more
I believe that the professor really is a magician, in a certain way.”
“Pooh! It couldn’t be anything like that! It was just a trick, like all
the others he did. But I’d like to know how to do it.”
Four boys sat under the shade of a big willow tree in a grassy meadow on
the bank of a stream. They were earnestly discussing something, the
import of which may be gathered from their talk.
“I tried to do the trick after I got home last night,” confessed Harry
Martin.
“You didn’t do it, did you?” asked Charlie Ford, rumpling up his red
hair. Charlie was not at all ashamed of his red hair. His sister Mazie
called it “auburn,” but Charlie himself stuck to plain “red.”
“Do it? I should say not!” cried Harry. “I didn’t come within a mile of
it, and our folks just laughed at me.”
“And yet how easy Professor Rosello did it,” observed Henry Blake.
“Yes, and he didn’t have any machinery or truck on the stage to do it
with, as he had for his other tricks,” remarked Tom Simpson. “All he had
was a plain slate, same as the little kids use in our school.”
“It must have been a trick slate,” said Harry. “That’s the only way I
can account for the figures getting on it.”
“No, there wasn’t any trick about the slate,” declared Charlie Ford. “I
was sitting right up front, and he passed the slate to me first, to look
at. There wasn’t a sign of a number on it when I had it.”
“And you handed it right over to Mr. Burton to hold, didn’t you?” asked
Tom.
“Yes; and Mr. Burton held it until the figures came out on it—under the
handkerchief, of course. It sure was a good trick.” Charlie shook his
head in wonderment.
“I’d like to know how it was done,” said Henry Blake. “But I don’t
s’pose he’d tell us if we asked him. He’s in town yet. I saw him around
the hotel when I came past a little while ago.”
“It isn’t very likely he’d tell us how he did it,” said Harry. “That’s
the way he makes his living—by doing magical tricks—and it isn’t to be
supposed that he’d give away his secrets. But all the same——”
“Hello, fellows! What’s up now?” asked a new voice. “Talking secrets
that you don’t want me to hear?”
The four boys, gathered under the willow tree, looked up quickly. Looks
of welcome accompanied by smiles greeted the newcomer.
“Hello, Joe!” shouted Charlie Ford.
“Say, you’re looking good!” added Tom.
“I’m feeling good,” was the response. “What’s up?”
“Oh, we’re just talking about the show last night. You were there,
weren’t you?”
“Yes, I saw the great Professor Alonzo Rosello give his world-mystifying
exhibition of black and allied arts,” and Joe smiled as he quoted from
the circulars that had been scattered broadcast over the town of
Bedford, advertising the exhibition given in the Opera House the
previous evening.
“What did you think of him?” asked Henry Blake.
“Why, he was pretty fair in some things,” said Joe, slowly.
“Pretty fair? Why, say! he was great!” cried Tom Simpson. “I’d like to
see you do even the simplest trick that he did!”
“Perhaps I can,” replied Joe, quietly.
His chums looked curiously at him. And, for the moment, we can do no
better than to observe this boy, who had sunk down in an easy position
on the grass. A moment’s study of him now will help greatly in
understanding the nature of a youth destined to have many curious and
thrilling adventures. And he was a lad well adapted by nature for a life
of daring excitement.
Briefly, Joe Strong was a remarkable boy. From the time of his early
infancy he had never known what it was to be ill or ailing. Even the
simplest childish diseases seemed to pass him by as one too strong and
sturdy to try to weaken. He had a superb physical form, and as soon as
he was old enough to take regular exercise he added to his suppleness
and strength in a systematic way.
There was no better runner, jumper, swimmer, diver or all-around athlete
in Bedford than Joe Strong. Added to this he could ride any horse he
ever saw; he could climb to the roof of the church and walk the ridge
pole, with never a qualm of dizziness; he was an excellent shot with a
rifle; and he could juggle with stones, baseball bats, balls—in fact
with almost anything that he could handle. Taking it all in all, Joe was
rather remarkable.
Another point in his favor, and one that was destined to stand him in
good stead in after life, was the fact that he seemed absolutely without
nerves. Rather be it said that his nerves were under such perfect
control that he was their master, not their slave. It took high-strung
but perfectly controlled nerves to do some of the things Joe did.
The secret of his abilities, if secret it was, lay in the fact that his
mother, now dead some years, had been one of the most daring bareback
riders in any circus that ever toured the country. She was billed as
Madame Hortense, though her name was Mrs. Janet Strong. She was an
English woman, and Joe dimly remembered hearing that before her marriage
her name had been Willoughby. Beyond that fact he knew little of his
mother’s early history.
But it was not alone from his mother that Joe inherited certain health,
nerve, daring, ability to ride a horse and to take risks higher up off
this solid earth than most persons care to go. He also was indebted to
his father for many of his talents and abilities.
Professor Morretti—known in private life as Alexander Strong—had been in
his day, one of the best-known and best-drawing (from a theatrical
standpoint) magicians that ever brought a live rabbit out of a silk hat,
or locked himself up in a solid box, only to be found missing when the
box was opened, the professor himself afterward walking coolly down the
aisle of the playhouse.
Thus Joe inherited two totally different sets of talents. And that was
about all he had inherited from his parents. For they had both died when
he was about five years old, the professor first, following a severe
attack of pneumonia contracted when one of his water tricks went wrong,
and he received a drenching on a zero night.
Mrs. Strong did not long survive her husband. Perhaps she lost her
nerve, following news of his sudden death. At that they were traveling
in different shows, Joe being with his mother. Usually, however,
Professor Morretti and Madame Hortense went about together, caring for
little Joe between them.
Only a few months after the professor died, Madame Hortense had a bad
fall from a new horse she was trying, and she received injuries which
resulted in her death in a few weeks.
Joe was left alone in the world, with only an inheritance of a superb
set of muscles, nerves, hawklike eyes and an active brain.
The circus people were kind to him, and did what they could, but a
circus is not the best place in the world for an orphan boy, and the
manager soon realized this.
Consequently he was glad to read an advertisement of a couple who wanted
to adopt a strong, healthy boy of about Joe’s age. Letters were written,
and Mr. Amos Blackford came on with his wife to have a look at Joe.
Mr. Beeze, the circus manager, had artfully neglected to state, in his
early letters, the fact that Joe was the orphan of a bareback rider and
a “Professor of Black Art and Magic”; and when Mr. and Mrs. Blackford
discovered this they were well-nigh horrified. For they were
old-fashioned persons, with very strict ideas about right and wrong, and
to them a woman who rode a horse in a circus was a person not to be
admitted to the best society, and they regarded the dead Professor
Morretti in about the same light as they would an outlaw.
At first they were going back without Joe. But Mrs. Blackford could not
resist the heart-appeal of the attractive little chap, and so he was
taken, and carried to the Blackford home in Bedford by his
foster-parents, who had since brought him up.
They had done well by Joe, as far as their rather narrow minds let them.
They treated Joe harshly at times, without understanding that they did
so. They wanted him to forget that he was ever in a circus, that his
mother ever rode bareback, and that his father juggled Indian clubs and
produced live rabbits from the vest pockets of innocent persons in the
audience.
But Joe could not forget those things. He had been born in a circus, and
the smell of the sawdust, the jungle odor from the animal tent, always
brought back to him, most vividly, his early days.
He had not lived long in Bedford before he became known as a daring
little fellow. Mrs. Blackford nearly fainted when once she saw him
walking the back fence like a tight rope, with a clothes pole as a
balancer in his chubby hands.
And from then on, by gradual stages, Joe advanced to more and more
daring tricks, until one day on a challenge he walked the ridgepole of
the church.
His foster-father whipped him for that—whipped him cruelly—and from that
time Joe came to dislike, with a dislike that never ceased, the man who
had brought him up. From then on his life was more or less miserable.
But he did not give up what was born to him in his blood. In secret he
imitated the acts of circus performers, remembering some of them from
his childhood days, seeing pictures of others on the gaudy fence bills,
and, rarely, getting into a show himself. That was his seventh heaven of
delight.
As the years went on, Joe gained in health, strength, nerve and daring.
Joe was not a paragon—far from it. But he was certainly a remarkable
youth, and perhaps “daring” is the best word to use in describing him.
He seemed never to be afraid to take a chance, but, if the truth were
known, his keen eye and active brain had already figured the chances out
in his favor before he undertook any feat.
And now, on this sunny day, he was sitting under a willow tree with his
companions, discussing a show given the night before by Professor
Rosello.
“Do you mean to tell me, Joe,” asked Tom Simpson, “that you can do _any_
of those tricks the professor did?”
“Some of ’em, yes,” answered Joe. “Of course I can’t do those that need
a whole lot of trick apparatus, a darkened stage, and all that. I could
if I had the stuff. But I think I can do the one you were talking about
as I came up,” and Joe regarded his companions with sparkling eyes.
“You mean the slate trick?” asked Harry.
“Yes. Adding up a sum and making the answer come on the slate. I could
do that now, if I had the slate. That was the only trick thing about it
all.”
“Was that slate a trick one?” asked Charlie, rumpling up his red hair.
“Yes. It was a trick slate, but not very complicated. Now just watch a
moment and I’ll do the trick, as nearly like the professor as is
possible. I guess I’ve got some papers and a pencil.”
From his pocket Joe brought out some white slips and a stub of a pencil.
“Now you fellows just sit in a row a little way apart, and I’ll pretend
this is the stage,” went on Joe, as he stood beside a flat stump near
the willow tree. “Here, Charlie, you put down a number on this slip of
paper. Any number of four figures, say 1,876, or anything you like.”
“All right,” said Charlie, and he wrote a number.
“Now, Harry, you set down a number under Charlie’s,” directed Joe, “and
then it will be Henry’s turn. This is the way the professor did it,
isn’t it?”
“Yes, only he talked more,” replied Tom.
“Well, I could sling the ‘patter,’ as they call it, if I wanted to,”
said Joe. “Only as I’m going to show you how the trick is worked I don’t
need a lot of talk.”
“Are you really going to show us?” asked Harry.
“Sure I am! Now, Harry, if you’ve got your number written pass the paper
to Henry. You set down a number of four figures, Henry, and draw a line
under the sum. Tom, you’re pretty good at addition, aren’t you?”
“Pretty fair, yes.”
“Well, I don’t want any mistake made,” Joe, with a smile, warned them.
“Here you go now. Add up those figures Tom, and get ’em right,” and he
passed a slip of paper to the boy who had not set down any of the
numbers. “Add ’em up, and set the result down in pencil under the line
Henry drew. When you’ve done that I’ll make the answer appear on this
flat piece of stone. Here, you hold it, Charlie,” and picking up a flat
stone from the ground, Joe threw his handkerchief over it and passed it
to Charlie to hold. “Don’t take off the handkerchief until I tell you
to,” he warned the lad.
“Is the sum added, Tom?” asked Joe, a moment later.
“Yes.”
“What is it?”
“Ten thousand, four hundred and sixty-seven.”
“Good!” cried Joe, and, unconsciously perhaps, he imitated the language,
manner and gestures of Professor Rosello. “Now then,” went on the boy
wizard, “you three boys each set down a separate number. None of you
knew what the others wrote, and Tom, who didn’t write any figures,
announces the sum of the other three fellows’ numbers to be ten thousand
four hundred and sixty-seven. Am I right, Tom?”
“That’s right Here’s the paper. I’m sure I added ’em up right.”
“Well, I’ve no doubt but you did, Tom. Now then, I think you’ll agree
that I didn’t know beforehand what numbers you fellows were going to
write, so, of course, I couldn’t tell what they’d add up to. Could I?”
“I don’t see how you could,” admitted Henry, but a little doubtfully.
“Well, now comes the magic part. I’m going, without touching it, to
cause this sum, which Tom announces as ten thousand four hundred and
sixty-seven, to appear on that flat stone Charlie holds under the
handkerchief. I won’t touch the stone, which answers the same purpose as
the professor’s slate. But I’ll take the paper you have, Tom, with the
sum of ten thousand four hundred and sixty-seven on it,” and Joe did so.
“Now to make the trick more simple I’ll just burn this paper with the
sum on, where you can all see it,” Joe went on. He held up the paper in
plain sight and set fire to it with a match.
“I will now pronounce the magic words: _oshkalaloolu presto, smacko!_
The sum has now vanished in smoke, and will appear on the flat stone.
Charlie, lift the handkerchief and hold up the stone so we can all see
it.”
Charlie did so, and there, in black pencil on the gray surface of the
stone, was the answer to the little sum—10,467!
“Whew!” whistled Charlie. “How under the sun did you do it, Joe?”
“And right under our very noses, too!” added Tom, in amazement.