THE STRANGE PLOT OF THE FERRIS WHEEL.
“What I have told you reflects only honor upon the name of an American.
I now come to the part that is hard to believe, and yet I swear every
word is true as gospel.
“The pasha whose bride was stolen, you have met. Aroun Scutari is the
man. He comes to the Fair nominally as a dealer in precious stones, but
actually to satisfy a revenge that has been slumbering these twenty
years. A Turk never forgets nor forgives an insult or injury, and it
so happened that he was madly infatuated with the lovely houri Samson
carried away--something rather unusual with a pasha who can buy as many
wives as he cares to support.
“His vengeance slept because he learned that a year after reaching
America Samson’s lovely wife died. Chicago’s climate was too severe
for the hothouse flower. She left a child, and upon this girl the old
broker has lavished his love. How the Turk learned all this I can’t
say, but he came here determined to repay the long standing debt he
owed a Yankee.
“I don’t know whether the pasha knew Samson lived in Chicago, but
he felt sure he would come to the Fair, and he bided his time. Sure
enough, one day they met face to face, and with the old operator was
his charming daughter.
“In Constantinople these two men had known each other. The eyes of hate
are keen. One look they flashed into each other’s face and with a frown
and a grunt passed on.
“The curiosity of the girl was aroused by the peculiar meeting. Her
father for certain reasons has, it seems, never told her the strange
story of the past, and she does not know he won her mother while she
was on the way to a Turk’s harem. She is not like other girls. Although
now but nineteen years of age she has traveled much with friends, but
never to Turkey. Anywhere else she was given full liberty to go, but
never there; which, of course, aroused all manner of conjectures in her
mind, and when she saw the awful look Aroun Scutari bent on her father
she must in some way have connected it with his horror of the Moslem
country.
“I cannot tell you how the cunning pasha went to work; but I am
positive that the middle-aged lady who usually accompanies Samson’s
daughter has been bought body and soul by his gold, and is playing into
his hands.
“It has puzzled me to know why he selected me as an agent. Sometimes I
think it isn’t at all complimentary to my character, and then when I
get puzzling over the matter I’m forced to believe that after all it’s
for the best--'there’s a destiny that shapes our ends, rough hew them
as we may.’
“In a spirit of deviltry, I pretended to fall in with the Turk’s plans
at the start, and once having committed myself, I’ve been borne along
by the current in an irresistible manner, until here I am at the
crisis, confused and ready to snatch at a straw in order to escape.”
The wheel stops while they are at the top of the great circle. From
below comes the strangest conglomeration of sounds with which the human
ear was ever tortured: music from the German band, the infernal din of
Javanese, Hottentot, South Sea Islanders, and their like, the shrieks
that burst from the camel racers and the donkey riders in Cairo Street,
together with laughter, shouts, and cries arising from the masses
thronging the Midway--will its equal ever be heard again?
Again the rumble of machinery, and they experience the strange
sensations of the descent. Wycherley begins to show more excitement as
the time draws closer for the crisis of which he has spoken.
“Now to explain the strange plan by means of which I am to at once
walk into the good graces of Miss Cereal. Heaven knows it is wild
enough, and could only originate in the hair-brained mind of a Turk. I
suggested various other schemes that would accomplish the same result,
but he would have none of them, so here am I about to imperil my life
to-night, unless my nerve gives way, which I fear it surely will, in
order to appear a hero in the eyes of the great operator’s daughter.
“I have tried to find out what plans Scutari has beyond, but it’s
useless, for he’s as close mouthed as an oyster. In secret, I am to
woo and, when the time comes, marry. Beyond that all is a blank. At
times I have wondered if the Turk didn’t plan to return a Roland for
an Oliver--that as Samson had stolen his purchased bride years ago,
he will now make it square by securing his daughter. That, I have
been content to leave for the future. You see, such good fortune is
a rarity with me, and I was just content to drift along, taking life
easy, pretending to fall in with the plans of the pasha, who doubtless
believes me a rogue, while at the same time I was scheming how to
turn the game against him at the last. Thus time has flown, the Turk
did not plan in vain, and let me tell you, Aleck Craig, I am on this
monster wheel to-night to carry out the wildest scheme mortal brain
ever conceived, as I said before, with the sole purpose in view of
apparently saving the millionaire’s daughter from a terrible danger.”
“The deuce you are!” says the Canadian, looking around him in wonder,
for it is beyond his comprehension how such a Quixotic knight may serve
his lady love under such conditions.
“Now listen. We are almost down. The car ahead of us will be emptied.
If arrangements that have been carefully made are carried out, it
will receive a party in waiting. These are to be all women with one
exception. This is a man with long hair and glasses--a professor in
appearance and quite respectable, whose wife urges him to make the
trip, and almost drags him into the car which is at once closed and the
door barred.
“As soon as it begins to ascend he will jump up and try to force his
way out. His excitement increases as he goes up until he is like a
crazy man. Of course the women are alarmed, and when the wretched wife
shouts that the professor, whose mind is always affected even when
ascending an ordinary elevator, has gone crazy and will murder them
all, you just bet there’ll be the biggest screaming match the Midway
ever heard--old Cairo with its camels won’t be in it.
“Now is my turn, you see. The door of my car is unfastened. I hear the
cries for help in the car above as we ascend. What Chicagoan ever heard
and did not answer a woman’s appeal. There is deadly danger in it, but
I’ve worked on this wheel and ought to know something about it.
“As it stops a minute to take on a fresh load below, I slip out, seize
hold of the girders, and climb up to the car above. It seems impossible
to do this, and yet I assure you the thing is feasible. All it needs
is a strong pair of arms, a quick eye, and a bold heart; and, confound
it, I’m afraid I’m lacking in the last! What d’ye think of the scheme,
my boy?”
Craig laughs outright.
“Why, it’s the most ridiculous thing I’ve heard in many a day. I feel
it my duty to stop it if possible. The door is open; I shall call out
to the man below.”
“Nonsense. He wouldn’t pay any attention to you. The chances are my
nerve will fail me, anyhow. See here--they are about to enter the car.
Notice the girl who steps like a queen, in company with the middle-aged
lady in black. That is Dorothy!”
“Dorothy--yes, by Heavens, it is the same!” ejaculates Craig, suddenly
fixing his gaze on the face that has haunted his dreams.
“Do you know her?” cries Claude, aghast.
“Yes--yes, that is--this infamous plot must go no further, do you
hear?” and the Canadian turns upon his companion savagely.
“So far as I am concerned I confess I’m only too glad to be out of it,
my noble duke. But you see, we are in motion--they ascend--the wheel
cannot go backward, and I’m really afraid the ladies must be terribly
alarmed by the antics of that mad professor, unless some athletic hero
like yourself climbs to their rescue. As for me, it’s too much like
being suspended by a spider’s web. I admit at the last a yearning for
_terra firma_.”
“What’s that?” exclaimed Craig.
“The first scream above. Most likely the professor is warming up. The
worst of it is, his wife assured me it was not wholly a put-up job
on his part. He is always inclined toward mania when ascending or
descending an elevator or inclined plane. My only fear is that he may
really become crazy enough to do one or more of the ladies injury.”
“Good God!” cries Craig, horrified; “and you entered into this base
conspiracy. I’m ashamed of you, Wycherley.”
“Ditto, my dear boy. I feel like kicking myself. That old Turk must
have bewitched me. I meant it all for the best. You see, I was afraid
he’d find someone not so scrupulous about the result.”
Craig has not waited to hear the apologies of his companion, but
springing to the door dashes it open. The sight is one to appall the
bravest heart. Already they are nearly halfway up the rise of the great
wheel that clicks and rolls onward like a giant Juggernaut. Below lies
the Midway--nearly one hundred and forty feet--the myriads of lights
flashing from Moorish palace, Mohammedan mosque and bazaars, Chinese
temples, Egyptian theater, and the motley collections of fake shows
that entice money from the pockets of pilgrims in the Plaisance. Above,
the moon and the star-decked heavens, against which is outlined the
circle of cars suspended, like Mohammed’s coffin, in space.
“By my soul, I believe it can be done,” says the Canadian, as,
thrusting his head out, he notices the position they are in; “yes, it
is possible to climb up this great tire of the wheel, this outside
circle.”
The wheel ceases to revolve, and as he stands there in the doorway he
no longer looks down. Above the muffled din below he hears shrieks from
above, shrieks for help uttered by terrified women.
Perhaps, understanding how matters are, he might be tempted to remain
inactive, for the danger is enough to alarm even a braver man than
Claude Wycherley, who has backed out at the last moment.
It is the memory of a face that decides him. _She_ is there! He has
found her at last, and under most remarkable circumstances--Dorothy,
the speculator’s daughter, heroine of the strange story he has just
heard.
Louder rise the screams above; in imagination he can see her in danger
at the hands of a madman. The strain is too much; he flings off his
coat with a quick movement.
“What would you do?” cries the other, leaping toward the Canadian.
“Change cars,” is the cool response thrown in his face, as the athlete
springs upon the great iron framework and begins to mount upward.
“Come back! it is too late, man. Good Heavens! the wheel begins to
move. Come back!” shouts Claude, thrilled with the sight. But it is as
easy to go forward as to return, and with hands of steel clutching the
rim of the throbbing wheel, Aleck Craig climbs upward to meet his fate
in mid air.