JOE’S AMBITION
“Where are you going now, Joe?” asked Tom, as his chum, after having
thanked Mrs. Simpson for her hospitality, stood, ready to leave the
house. “Going home?”
“Not right away,” Joe answered. “I had an idea I’d like to call on the
professor to see if he was all right. It isn’t every day I help rescue a
man that way, you know.”
“Help rescue him!” exclaimed Tom, with an accent on the first word.
“Why, you did it all, Joe! And, say, I never saw anything done slicker.
Using your wet clothes was just the thing.”
“It was the _only_ thing,” said Joe. “I knew the fire wouldn’t get
through my soaking wet coat and trousers in the little while he was
exposed to the flames. But say, Tom, are my clothes too badly burned to
wear?”
“I’m afraid so, Joe. I had a look at them, and they seem to be ruined.”
“Too bad!” and Joe sighed. Mr. Amos Blackford had the reputation in town
of being rather close, and Joe realized this better than any one else.
“The professor ought to get you a new suit,” Tom asserted, “since you
ruined yours saving him.”
“Oh, that wasn’t the reason I wanted to see him,” hastily interposed the
young wizard. “And if you go with me, Tom, don’t you dare mention my
burned clothes.”
Joe looked so stern as he said this, and Tom so well knew the firmness
of his chum, that he readily promised to do as Joe wished.
“I think I’ll just give him a call at the hotel,” Joe went on. “There’s
time enough for me to go home—and take what’s coming to me—later,” he
added grimly. “I’ve got another suit, Tom, my best one. I can put that
on and give you back yours.”
“Oh, I’m not worrying about that, Joe. But come on, we’ll go to the
hotel. I wonder what the professor was doing up on the top floor of that
fireworks factory, anyhow.”
“That’s one of the things that’s been puzzling me, Tom. And I don’t mind
admitting that it is one of the reasons why I’d like to meet that
prestidigitator.”
“Come along then,” went on Tom. “I’m with you. You may learn some more
of his tricks, Joe.”
“Oh, I know quite a few already.”
“You do? You never told us fellows.”
“Oh, well, I sort of had to keep them under cover. You know my
foster-parents aren’t any too proud of what my father and mother did for
a living.”
“So I’ve heard, Joe.”
“But I’m proud of them!” Joe exclaimed, with flashing eyes. “I wish I
could be such a rider as I’ve heard my mother was, and as good a
magician as my father. But, as I said, I’ve had to sort of keep my
ambitions under cover.
“I have done a little practicing on the side, though, and I have some
books on magic I’m studying. There’s more to it than most persons
suppose. No, I don’t want to get to the bottom of any of Professor
Rosello’s tricks. I fancy I know most of them anyhow. But I would like
to know what he was doing in that factory, especially up where he was
when the fire broke out.”
“Maybe he’ll tell us,” said Tom.
As the two young men went through the town the signs of excitement about
the fire were still pretty much in evidence. On all street corners
little groups were talking about it. Several persons had been overcome
with smoke, and one or two employees were slightly burned, one man
seriously, it was feared.
As Joe walked along he and Tom heard more than once a murmur of voices,
which could be heard commenting on Joe’s brave act.
“There he goes now!” some one exclaimed. “The nerviest fellow in seven
counties! I don’t believe there’s a thing Joe Strong doesn’t dare do!”
“You’re getting famous, Joe,” commented his chum.
Joe smiled, but said nothing.
They soon found themselves at the one hotel of Bedford, and, after
stating their errand, a bell-boy came back with the information that
Professor Rosello would see them in his room.
“He’s a little knocked out,” the clerk informed Joe. “Nothing serious,
though. He’ll be glad to see you.”
And the professor was. He looked from Joe to Tom as the two lads entered
his room.
“To whom am I indebted so greatly for the saving of my life?” asked
Professor Rosello, in a rather formal and old-fashioned manner, which
well became him.
“He did it!” said Tom, quickly, indicating Joe.
“Then permit me, my dear young sir, to give you my most heartfelt and
sincere thanks.” He shook hands gravely with Joe, and resumed: “I am
well aware that mere words are futile at a time like this, and so I will
refrain from uttering many of them. But, none the less, I do thank you.
I did not realize my danger until after I had been rescued. Then I was
told it was you who had done it. Even yet I hardly realize what I went
through and my escape from a great danger. I dare say it will come to me
as a shock, later.”
“I hope you’re feeling better,” said Joe, who was anxious to get the
“thanking business,” as he called it, over with.
“Yes, I am almost myself again, thank you,” was the reply. “I did
swallow a little smoke, but not much. I really had no business to go
where I did. You see it was this way.”
Tom looked at Joe, as much as to say:
“Now you’ll get your explanation all right.”
“I am, as perhaps you know, a sleight-of-hand performer; a magician, as
we are sometimes called. I gave an exhibition in your town last night.”
“I was there, and liked it first rate!” broke in Tom. “And Joe here—he
showed us——”
Tom stopped suddenly, for Joe administered an unseen, but none the less
swift, warning kick, under cover of a table.
“I am glad you liked my little entertainment,” the professor went on,
not appearing to notice the little side-play between Joe and his chum,
if, indeed, he saw it. “As I was saying, I am a modern magician. As you
young gentlemen probably know, we are always on the lookout for new
tricks, new effects, illusions and so on. Perhaps I need not tell you
that there is really no so-called Black Art—nothing really supernatural
in my work, or in that of my fellow artists. We can not overcome nature,
we merely adapt her to our needs. The old truth of the hand being
quicker than the eye still holds good. In fact it is very easy to
deceive the eye, as you doubtless noticed at my little entertainment.
You see——”
The professor pulled a red handkerchief from his pocket, flourished it
in the air, stuffed it into his clenched fist. Pulled out one end to
disclose a blue flag. Then, with a rapid motion, he stuffed it back into
his clenched fist again, to bring it out pure white, and a moment later,
rolling it up into a ball, he smoothed it out to disclose a miniature
United States flag.
This he held out to Tom, who, when he took it, found that he was
grasping a lemon.
“Why—what—how did you——?” he stammered.
“Merely demonstrating that the hand is quicker than the eye,” said the
professor, smiling.
“Joe can do——” began Tom, when he was again stopped by a swift kick
under the table.
“As I said,” resumed the magician, with a smile, “I am always on the
lookout for new effects. This morning, when I was waiting for my train
at the station to take me and my effects on to the next town, where I
show night after to-morrow, I noticed the fireworks factory. It occurred
to me that I might use some simple little piece of fireworks in
demonstrating one of my tricks, so, as I had time enough, I went over to
the office.
“They had just what I wanted, and the manager took me up to the store
room to show me different styles of it. While we were on the second
floor there was an explosion in one of the distant buildings. The
manager rushed away at once, leaving me there in the factory.
“I realized that the fire was somewhere near me, but I had no idea that
it might spread to the building in which I then was. Left to myself, I
strolled about, looking at the different pieces of fireworks. I was very
much interested. I even went up to the top story, all alone. Those in
the factory must have rushed out at the first alarm.
“I realized that there was a fire, but I fairly lost myself in working
out the details of a new illusion that came to me while in the factory.
I sat down amid the store of pyrotechnics and became involved in
thought. Then, before I knew it, I was trapped. I rushed to the opening
and must have fainted. The rest you young gentlemen know better than I.”
Joe had received the information he wanted. The explanation was a
perfectly natural one. Perhaps, though, no one but a man like Professor
Rosello would have sat down in a fireworks factory, with a blaze near
him, to work out the details of a trick. But, as he said, he fairly lost
himself in a maze of thought, and when he did realize his danger it was
almost too late.
“And now, once more, permit me to thank you for saving my life. I can
offer you no adequate reward, nor, I imagine, do you want one, Joe
Strong.”
Joe shook his head negatively.
“But if ever you are in need of a friend—that is such a friend, with
such limited talents as I possess—don’t fail to call on Peter Crabb,
otherwise known as Professor Rosello,” he added earnestly. “I am going
to travel on to-night,” he resumed. “I shall feel well enough then. I
can not get the fireworks I desired, but they will do later.
“As I said, if ever you want a friend, don’t forget me. I may not be
able to do much for you, but such as I can do, I will do gladly. I know
many men and women in such lines of public life as I, myself, follow,
and it may be I can help you to gratify some ambition.”
“I wonder if you could?” asked Joe, boldly. “I have only one
ambition—that is at present—and that is, to be what you are.”
“A magician?” cried Professor Rosello, somewhat surprised.
“Yes,” answered Joe.
The professor was silent a moment.
“Young man,” he said, “it is not an easy life. There are many hardships,
and not every one can stand them, nor is every one fitted to attempt to
amuse the public as I do. I say that in all modesty, but there is a
certain manual dexterity required, a certain quickness of motion—of the
eye—a certain amount of nerve——”
“Joe’s got that!” cried Tom, moving away to escape an expected kick.
“And he can do some tricks, too. You ought to see him do the number
trick you worked last night!”
The professor looked strangely at Joe.
“You are, perhaps, an amateur?” he asked, slowly.
“Sort of,” admitted Joe, diffidently.
“Then perhaps you can master the art, after many years’ practice. If you
like, I will test you. Let me see——”
“My father was Professor Morretti,” said Joe in a low voice.
The magician started.
“Professor Morretti!” he murmured. “Are you his son?”
“Yes,” said Joe, simply.
Professor Rosello bowed as to an equal.
“My dear young man,” he said, “I am greatly interested in you—more so
than before. If you are the true son of Professor Morretti, and if you
have even a small part of his talents, I can predict for you a brilliant
future. He was one of the greatest of us. I never met him, but it was
something even to know him by reputation. I am indeed glad to meet his
son—proud to have been saved by him.
“And to think I talked to you of years of preparation—that I had an idea
of showing you a few simple tricks, just to discourage you! For I did
not want you to learn by too bitter experience the sorrow of failure.
And you are Professor Morretti’s son! I am proud to know you!”