A MOMENT OF PERIL.
For a moment the wildest kind of excitement prevailed throughout the
town hall. Men sprang up and women screamed in fright.
“He will be crushed!”
“Cannot some one catch the falling scenery?”
A hundred other cries rang out--people can call better than they can
rush up and help.
In the meanwhile Neka was whirling around, turning somersaults and
back hand-springs. He was totally unconscious of his peril. He
fancied the audience were afraid he would be killed on account of the
danger attending the performance of his fire trick.
But now Longfellow Wadsworth, who was standing near one of the wings,
sprang forward.
To attempt to steady the scene was useless. It had been built by a
well-meaning, but ignorant, local carpenter, and was almost as heavy
as the wooden side of a barn. The running brace in the rear had
broken away, and it was bound to come down.
“Come this way, Neka!” yelled the elocutionist. “Save yourself!”
This cry, delivered but a few feet from him, startled the boy very
much. But in his circus experience he had been taught not to lose
his presence of mind no matter how great the interruption, and this
stood him in good stead.
Like a whirlwind he went on, turning over and over, until the wing
was reached. Then he shot out of sight.
Crash! the scene came down, reaching over the full depth of the
stage, smashing several of the footlights and narrowly escaping the
pianist.
A tiny blaze sprang up, but ready hands subdued the conflagration,
and a long sigh of relief followed.
“By Jove, my son, but that was a narrow escape!” ejaculated
Longfellow Wadsworth. He was as white as a sheet, and trembled from
head to foot.
Neka was busy brushing the fire out, and for several seconds could
not answer. He was not hurt in the least, but the accident had
spoiled the climax of his trick.
“Yes, I am thankful I escaped,” he said, at last, and quite coolly.
“I wonder what made the scene fall. You didn’t move it, did you?”
“No.”
A dozen members of the bicycle club were now coming forward. Like a
flash Neka got the paraphernalia of his tricks out of sight. They
were costly secrets, and well worth preserving.
“Is he hurt?” questioned Harry Lardale, anxiously, as he pressed
forward to Neka’s side.
“I’m all right,” replied the boy. “But I had a close call.”
“Indeed you did. I ought to have told you about that scene. I was
told the brace was rotten.”
“We’ll have to have help to put it out of the way,” put in Longfellow
Wadsworth.
“Certainly.”
Several of the club members sprang forward to assist, and the scene
was raised from the footlights and the curtain lowered. In five
minutes the stage was cleared and set with another scene, and in the
meanwhile the pianist started up a lively air, which changed the
current of the audience’s thoughts.
“You had better go on while I prepare for some more tricks,” said
Neka, to the elocutionist, and Longfellow Wadsworth willingly
complied.
The elocutionist was warming up, and a recitation entitled
“Mulligan’s Hens” brought forth roars of laughter. Seeing the
audience took better to humorous than to pathetic pieces, he
thereafter confined himself to such selections as were calculated to
elicit laughter.
When Neka next appeared, it was in a robe of blue trimmed with white.
Silently he advanced to the center of the stage, then made a violent
clutch in the air.
Bang! an explosion was heard, and a streak of fire seemed to dart
across the stage. It struck his head and instantly there was a blaze.
“He is on fire!”
“What has happened? Was that an explosion?”
“He’ll be burned up!”
Half-a-dozen people leaped up in alarm.
“Don’t be alarmed, my good friends,” said Neka, in a cool tone. “This
is the way I clean my hair now and then. It’s better than a shampoo,
and far less costly. See, I will brush it out.”
And producing a brush from his sleeve, he brushed the fire to the
floor, and stamped it out with his feet.
The fire extinguished, he ran to the wing, and appeared with a little
charcoal heater. In it lay a rod of iron, red-hot.
“My pet plaything,” he explained, as he came forward with the rod in
his hands. “An excellent thing to warm with. Would any of you like to
try it? No? All right, then, I’ll keep it to myself.”
He took a strip of paper and laid it on the rod. It immediately
caught fire, and he tossed the burning brand out for inspection.
“I will now heat it a trifle more,” he went on, sticking the rod into
the heater. “The charcoal is not very hot. I’ll have to blow it up.”
And, to the amazement of all, he picked out the white-hot bits with
his fingers and blew upon each, then put them back.
“Creation!”
“He’s a king of fire and no mistake.”
The iron bar was now hotter than ever. Neka took it up and advanced
to the footlights.
“Will any one examine the bar? I would like at least one gentleman to
come up and satisfy himself that the bar is really at a white heat.”
Two gentlemen came forward. One touched the bar, and gave a cry of
pain which caused the audience to roar.
“You are satisfied?” asked Neka.
“More than satisfied,” said the gentleman, flipping his fingers.
“I’ll give you a written statement that it’s hot if you desire it.”
“Thanks, but it’s not necessary, sir. Now please observe, I take the
bar, and, presto! I brand myself at pleasure!”
The sleeves of Neka’s robe dropped away, disclosing his bare arms.
Up first one and then the other he ran the red-hot bar. There was a
slight splutter, but that was all. Many could not endure the sight,
and turned away their faces; others gaped open-mouthed at the trick.
Once more Neka retired, and Longfellow Wadsworth came on. He recited
a selection the boy had suggested, “A Countryman at the Magician’s
Entertainment,” and during this Neka came on again and performed more
fire tricks, to fit the surprise and horror of the countryman.
This wound up the performance, and when the curtain went down the
applause was loud and long.
The Chambersburgh wheelmen were delighted at the success of the
entertainment, and the reporter for the local paper promised to give
the performance a splendid notice. This he did, and to-day Neka has
the clipping from the Chambersburgh _Gazette_ in his scrap-book.
It was after eleven o’clock before the boy and his partner were ready
to leave the town hall. They had already hired a room at the hotel,
and thither they made their way, talking over the prospects as they
went.
“Well, now, the question is, what’s to be done next?” said Neka, as
they entered the room and prepared to retire.
“I move we take the stage to Lock Haven to-morrow,” replied
Longfellow Wadsworth. “Perhaps we can arrange for an entertainment
there, either for some organization or on our own hook.”
“That may be a good plan. It will at least bring us closer to New
York, and I reckon that is where we both want to go.”
“You are right, Neka. It’s the only place from which to obtain an
engagement with the sort of company we are looking for,” replied the
elocutionist.
Before retiring Neka took a thorough bath. This was necessary in
order to remove the alum and other chemicals with which his head,
neck, and arms were covered, for all had been covered in order to
protect his skin from the fire.
Both the boy and Longfellow Wadsworth slept soundly that night. The
elocutionist was much elated over their success, and much to Neka’s
disappointment, persisted in taking a couple of glasses of liquor
before he went to bed.
“Just as a nightcap, my son,” he said, “just as a nightcap. In the
future I shall beware and not--ahem--satisfy the craving to an
obnoxious extent.”
Which led Neka to believe, and rightly, too, that the elocutionist
had a great weakness for strong drink.
This was to be deplored, and the boy determined to keep a sharp eye
on his partner in an endeavor to keep him from going astray. What a
task Neka thus cut out for himself will be seen later.