It was a large, dark neckerchief, obviously brought for this very
purpose. As Peters stepped forward and mounted the platform the professor
removed his spectacles with apparent reluctance. Broadly smiling, Peters
threw the folded kerchief over the mind-reader's eyes, saw that it fitted
snugly, and tied it. "Now we've got you, Mr. Smart, of Constantinople,"
he whispered derisively.
"Have ze good time and laugh while you may," responded the professor, and
raising his voice he asked, "Will someone kindly bring ze glass water?
Mind-reading, it is dry."
It was Jack started to his feet, passed down the room, and returned with
the desired water. Watching, Kate expected to see a consultation between
the two boys, as to some way out of the apparent difficulty. Jack,
however, merely placed the glass in the extended hand, and received it
back without the exchange of a syllable. Not only that, he returned to
the back of the hall, and instead of resuming his seat at the front,
mounted to a window ledge at the rear.
"Well, I am ready," announced the professor. "And I make ze suggestion
that Mr. Peters himself write ze first."
The latter was speedily at the board. As he wrote, a silence fell.
Previously the professor had called off each letter as written. This time
there was no response. With a smile that gradually broadened to a laugh
Peters finished an odd Indian name, and asked, "The thought-waves haven't
gone astray already, have they, Mr. Professor? Haven't been frightened
off by a mere handkerchief, surely?"
"I was wondering how to pronounce it," came the quiet response. "I'll
spell it instead. It is,
"'M U S Q U O D O B O I T.'"
Peters stared blankly. Not more blankly than the majority of the
audience, however, including Kate herself. She turned toward Jack. He
appeared as surprised as Peters. Indeed, if there was anything
suspicious, it was that Jack appeared a trifle over-astonished.
As the burst of applause which followed the first surprise was succeeded
by a wave of laughter, Kate turned back to discover Peters, very red in
the face, drawing on the board a picture. As she looked a grotesquely
ugly face took shape. The face completed, there was a renewed burst of
merriment when Peters topped it with a fool's-cap, and on that sketched
rough hieroglyphics.
"Now whose picture have I drawn?" he demanded loudly.
"Well, you tried to draw mine," responded the professor, dropping into
normal English, "but as the dunce's tie is far up the back of his collar,
I leave the audience to decide whose it is."
At this there were shouts and shrieks of laughter, and Peters, hurriedly
feeling, and finding his own tie far out of place, threw the chalk to the
floor and dashed back to his seat amid a perfect bedlam of hilarity.
The uproar soon subsided, however, for not one in the crowded room but
was now thoroughly wonderstruck at the demonstration. Some of the older
people began to step forward, writing the most difficult names they could
think of, meaningless words, groups of figures. A teacher chalked a
proposition in algebra. Without error all were called out promptly.
The climax was reached when one of the church elders advanced to the
board, and while writing, fixed his eyes on something in his half-opened
hand.
Without hesitation the blindfolded unknown announced, "Mr. Storey is
writing the name of one of the Apostles, but is thinking of a penknife."
The clapping which followed was scattered and brief. "It's simply
uncanny," exclaimed one of Kate's neighbors. Kate, glancing back toward
Jack, shook her head. Up there, in full view, she could not possibly see
how he could have anything to do with it.
At this point the minister again stepped forward. "Will you answer a few
questions?" he scrawled.
"With pleasure, Mr. Borden."
"How old am I?"
"Forty-nine next September."
The minister ran his fingers through his hair, perplexedly.
"How old is Mrs. Borden?"
There was a slight pause, then in gallant tones came the answer,
"Twenty-two."
Amid a renewal of laughter, and much clapping from the ladies, the
minister was about to turn away, when on second thought he turned back,
and wrote:
"Name the twelve Apostles."
For the first time the learned seer displayed signs of uneasiness. After
some stumbling, however, he completed the list.
With a twinkle in his eyes, the preacher inscribed a second question,
"Name Joshua's captains."
Prof. Click cleared his throat, ran his fingers down his beard, moved
uneasily in his chair, and at length, while a smile began to spread over
the room, shook his head.
"But I am thinking of them--hard," declared the minister, chuckling.
The professor was again about to shake his head, when suddenly he paused,
then replied boldly, "Shem, Ham, Hezekiah, Hittite, Peter, Goliath,
Solomon and Pharaoh."
It was during the shouts of merriment following this ridiculous response
that Kate's mystification began to dissolve. Glancing again toward her
brother, she saw that, despite a show of laughing, there was an
uneasiness in his face similar to that shown by the professor. And when
presently she saw him cast a covertly longing eye toward a pile of Bibles
in the next window, she turned back to the platform, silently laughing.
She thought she had discovered the source of the "thought waves."
The success of the brazenly invented answer to the last question,
meantime, had quite restored the professor's confidence, and as the
minister went on, he continued to respond in the same ridiculous fashion,
claiming, on the minister's protest, that he was only reading the
thought-waves as they came to him. And finally the pastor laughingly gave
it up.
At the next, and final, "demonstration" mystification of another kind
came to the observant Kate. Rising to his feet, the mind-reader announced
that he would now inform a few of the "stronger thinkers" before him the
subject of their thoughts; and both in his manner and tone Kate noted an
unmistakable nervousness. Glancing toward Jack, she saw that his face
also was grave, and with a stirring of apprehension of she knew not what,
she waited.
"The first thought which reaches me," began the professor, "is from Miss
Mary Andrews. Miss Andrews thinks her pretty toque is on straight. It's
not quite. I think one pin is coming out."
Following this laughingly applauded "reading," the speaker informed Miss
James that she was thinking her lace collar was not loose behind. "Which
was quite correct." As also was Mr. Storey's impression that there was
not a long blond hair on his coat collar. "There was not."
Then Kate distinctly saw the speaker take a deep breath.
"Mr. Joseph Potter is a strong thinker," he proceeded. "I read several
thoughts from Mr. Potter."
The old farmer, to whom the whole performance had appeared as nothing
less than magic, leaned out into the aisle, breathless and staring.
"It seems to me, Mr. Potter," the mind-reader went on, "it seems to me
you are thinking about some important business deal--some big deal
concerning land."
The old man's mouth opened.
"Also it seems to me that this land may be worth a great deal more
than--"
There was an exclamation, a commotion, and Burke, the real estate man,
was on his feet. A moment he stood staring, as though doubting his ears,
then catching up his hat he said in a loud voice, "Come, Mr. Potter, we
must go. That other engagement, you know--I had forgotten it."
The old man sprang up, and brushed Burke aside. "Go on! Go on!" he cried
toward the figure on the platform. The startled audience gazed from one
to another. Several arose.
"It seems to me," resumed Alex quietly, "that there is a waterfall on
your farm, and that--"
"Hold on there! Hold on!" The words came in a shout, and springing into
the aisle, Burke strode toward the platform, purple with rage. "What do
you mean? What are you doing?
"Who is this man?" he demanded at the top of his lungs. "I demand to
know! What does he mean by--?"
Swiftly hobbling down the aisle behind him, the old man attempted to
pass. Roughly Burke pushed him back.