THOSE of my readers who have gone about much with an invisible companion
will not need to be told how awkward the whole business is. For one
thing, however much you may have been convinced that your companion _is_
invisible, you will, I feel sure, have found yourself every now and then
saying, "This _must_ be a dream!" or "I _know_ I shall wake up in half a
sec!" And this was the case with Gerald, Kathleen, and Jimmy as they sat
in the white marble Temple of Flora, looking out through its arches at
the sunshiny park and listening to the voice of the enchanted Princess,
who really was not a Princess at all, but just the housekeeper's niece,
Mabel Prowse; though, as Jimmy said, "she was enchanted, right enough."
"It's no use talking," she said again and again, and the voice came from
an empty-looking space between two pillars; "I never believed anything
would happen, and now it has."
"Well," said Gerald kindly, "can we do anything for you? Because, if
not, I think we ought to be going."
"Yes," said Jimmy; "I _do_ want my tea!"
"Tea!" said the unseen Mabel scornfully. "Do you mean to say you'd go
off to your teas and leave me after getting me into this mess?"
"Well, of all the unfair Princesses I ever met!" Gerald began. But
Kathleen interrupted.
"Oh, don't rag her," she said. "Think how horrid it must be to be
invisible!"
"I don't think," said the hidden Mabel, "that my aunt likes me very much
as it is. She wouldn't let me go to the fair because I'd forgotten to
put back some old trumpery shoe that Queen Elizabeth wore--I got it out
from the glass case to try it on."
"Did it fit?" asked Kathleen, with interest.
"Not it--much too small," said Mabel. "I don't believe it ever fitted
any one."
"I do want my tea!" said Jimmy.
"I do really think perhaps we ought to go," said Gerald. "You see, it
isn't as if we could do anything for you."
"You'll have to tell your aunt," said Kathleen kindly.
"No, no, no!" moaned Mabel invisibly; "take me with you. I'll leave her
a note to say I've run away to sea."
"Girls don't run away to sea."
"They might," said the stone floor between the pillars, "as stowaways,
if nobody wanted a cabin boy--cabin girl, I mean."
"I'm sure you oughtn't," said Kathleen firmly.
"Well, what _am_ I to do?"
"Really," said Gerald, "I don't know what the girl _can_ do. Let her
come home with us and have----"
"Tea--oh, yes," said Jimmy, jumping up.
"And have a good council."
"After tea," said Jimmy.
"But her aunt'll find she's gone."
"So she would if I stayed."
"Oh, come on," said Jimmy.
"But the aunt'll think something's happened to her."
"So it has."
"And she'll tell the police, and they'll look everywhere for me."
"They'll never find you," said Gerald. "Talk of impenetrable disguises!"
"I'm sure," said Mabel, "aunt would much rather never see me again than
see me like this. She'd never get over it; it might kill her--she has
spasms as it is. I'll write to her, and we'll put it in the big
letter-box at the gate as we go out. Has any one got a bit of pencil and
a scrap of paper?"
Gerald had a note-book, with leaves of the shiny kind which you have to
write on, not with a blacklead pencil, but with an ivory thing with a
point of real lead. And it won't write on any other paper except the
kind that is in the book, and this is often very annoying when you are
in a hurry. Then was seen the strange spectacle of a little ivory stick,
with a leaden point, standing up at an odd, impossible-looking slant,
and moving along all by itself as ordinary pencils do when you are
writing with them.
"May we look over?" asked Kathleen.
There was no answer. The pencil went on writing.
"Mayn't we look over?" Kathleen said again.
"Of course you may!" said the voice near the paper. "I nodded, didn't I?
Oh, I forgot, my nodding's invisible too."
The pencil was forming round, clear letters on the page torn out of the
note-book. This is what it wrote:--
"DEAR AUNT,--
"I am afraid you will not see me again for some
time. A lady in a motor-car has adopted me, and we
are going straight to the coast and then in a
ship. It is useless to try to follow me. Farewell,
and may you be happy. I hope you enjoyed the fair.
"MABEL."
"But that's all lies," said Jimmy bluntly.
"No, it isn't; it's fancy," said Mabel. "If I said I've become
invisible, she'd think that was a lie, anyhow."
"Oh, _come_ along," said Jimmy; "you can quarrel just as well walking."
Gerald folded up the note as a lady in India had taught him to do years
before, and Mabel led them by another and very much nearer way out of
the park. And the walk home was a great deal shorter, too, than the walk
out had been.
The sky had clouded over while they were in the Temple of Flora, and the
first spots of rain fell as they got back to the house, very late indeed
for tea.
Mademoiselle was looking out of the window, and came herself to open the
door.
"But it is that you are in lateness, in lateness!" she cried. "You have
had a misfortune--no? All goes well?"
"We are very sorry indeed," said Gerald. "It took us longer to get home
than we expected. I do hope you haven't been anxious. I have been
thinking about you most of the way home."
"Go, then," said the French lady, smiling; "you shall have them in the
same time--the tea and the supper."
Which they did.
"How _could_ you say you were thinking about her all the time?" said a
voice just by Gerald's ear, when Mademoiselle had left them alone with
the bread and butter and milk and baked apples. "It was just as much a
lie as me being adopted by a motor lady."
"No, it wasn't," said Gerald, through bread and butter. "I _was_
thinking about whether she'd be in a wax or not. So there!"
[Illustration: IT WAS RATHER HORRID TO SEE THE BREAD AND BUTTER WAVING
ABOUT IN THE AIR.]
There were only three plates, but Jimmy let Mabel have his, and shared
with Kathleen. It was rather horrid to see the bread and butter waving
about in the air, and bite after bite disappearing from it apparently by
no human agency; and the spoon rising with apple in it and returning to
the plate empty. Even the tip of the spoon disappeared as long as it was
in Mabel's unseen mouth; so that at times it looked as though its bowl
had been broken off.
Every one was very hungry, and more bread and butter had to be fetched.
Cook grumbled when the plate was filled for the third time.
"I tell you what," said Jimmy; "I did want my tea."
"I tell _you_ what," said Gerald; "it'll be jolly difficult to give
Mabel any breakfast. Mademoiselle will be here then. She'd have a fit if
she saw bits of forks with bacon on them vanishing, and then the forks
coming back out of vanishment, and the bacon lost for ever."
"We shall have to buy things to eat and feed our poor captive in
secret," said Kathleen.
"Our money won't last long," said Jimmy, in gloom. "Have _you_ got any
money?"
He turned to where a mug of milk was suspended in the air without
visible means of support.
"I've not got much money," was the reply from near the milk, "but I've
got heaps of ideas."
"We must talk about everything in the morning," said Kathleen. "We must
just say good-night to Mademoiselle, and then you shall sleep in my bed,
Mabel. I'll lend you one of my nightgowns."
"I'll get my own to-morrow," said Mabel cheerfully.
"You'll go back to get things?"
"Why not? Nobody can see me. I think I begin to see all sorts of amusing
things coming along. It's not half bad being invisible."
It was extremely odd, Kathleen thought, to see the Princess's clothes
coming out of nothing. First the gauzy veil appeared hanging in the air.
Then the sparkling coronet suddenly showed on the top of the chest of
drawers. Then a sleeve of the pinky gown showed, then another, and then
the whole gown lay on the floor in a glistening ring as the unseen legs
of Mabel stepped out of it. For each article of clothing became visible
as Mabel took it off. The nightgown, lifted from the bed, disappeared a
bit at a time.
"Get into bed," said Kathleen, rather nervously.
The bed creaked and a hollow appeared in the pillow. Kathleen put out
the gas and got into bed; all this magic had been rather upsetting, and
she was just the least bit frightened, but in the dark she found it was
not so bad. Mabel's arms went round her neck the moment she got into
bed, and the two little girls kissed in the kind darkness, where the
visible and the invisible could meet on equal terms.
"Good-night," said Mabel. "You're a darling, Cathy; you've been most
awfully good to me, and I sha'n't forget it. I didn't like to say so
before the boys, because I know boys think you're a muff if you're
grateful. But I _am_. Good-night."
Kathleen lay awake for some time. She was just getting sleepy when she
remembered that the maid who would call them in the morning would see
those wonderful Princess clothes.
"I'll have to get up and hide them," she said. "What a bother!"
And as she lay thinking what a bother it was she happened to fall
asleep, and when she woke again it was bright morning, and Eliza was
standing in front of the chair where Mabel's clothes lay, gazing at the
pink Princess-frock that lay on the top of her heap and saying, "Law!"
"Oh, don't touch, _please_!" Kathleen leaped out of bed as Eliza was
reaching out her hand.
"Where on earth did you get hold of that?"
"We're going to use it for acting," said Kathleen, on the desperate
inspiration of the moment. "It's lent me for that."
"You might show _me_, miss," suggested Eliza.
"Oh, please not!" said Kathleen, standing in front of the chair in her
nightgown. "You shall see us act when we are dressed up. There! And you
won't tell any one, will you?"
"Not if you're a good little girl," said Eliza. "But you be sure to let
me see when you _do_ dress up. But where----"
Here a bell rang and Eliza had to go, for it was the postman, and she
particularly wanted to see him.
"And now," said Kathleen, pulling on her first stocking, "we shall have
to _do_ the acting. Everything seems very difficult."
"Acting isn't," said Mabel; and an unsupported stocking waved in the air
and quickly vanished. "I shall love it."
"You forget," said Kathleen gently, "invisible actresses can't take part
in plays unless they're magic ones."
"Oh," cried a voice from under a petticoat that hung in the air, "I've
got _such_ an idea!"
"Tell it us after breakfast," said Kathleen, as the water in the basin
began to splash about and to drip from nowhere back into itself. "And
oh! I do wish you hadn't written such whoppers to your aunt. I'm sure we
oughtn't to tell lies for anything."
"What's the use of telling the truth if nobody believes you?" came from
among the splashes.
"I don't know," said Kathleen, "but I'm sure we ought to tell the
truth."
"_You_ can, if you like," said a voice from the folds of a towel that
waved lonely in front of the wash-hand stand.
"All right. We will, then, first thing after brek--_your_ brek, I mean.
You'll have to wait up here till we can collar something and bring it
up to you. Mind you dodge Eliza when she comes to make the bed."
The invisible Mabel found this a fairly amusing game; she further
enlivened it by twitching out the corners of tucked-up sheets and
blankets when Eliza wasn't looking.
"Drat the clothes!" said Eliza; "anyone ud think the things was
bewitched."
She looked about for the wonderful Princess clothes she had glimpsed
earlier in the morning. But Kathleen had hidden them in a perfectly safe
place under the mattress, which she knew Eliza never turned.
Eliza hastily brushed up from the floor those bits of fluff which come
from goodness knows where in the best regulated houses. Mabel, very
hungry and exasperated at the long absence of the others at their
breakfast, could not forbear to whisper suddenly in Eliza's ear:--
"Always sweep under the mats."
The maid started and turned pale. "I must be going silly," she murmured;
"though it's just what mother always used to say. Hope I ain't going
dotty, like Aunt Emily. Wonderful what you can fancy, ain't it?"
She took up the hearth-rug all the same, swept under it, and under the
fender. So thorough was she, and so pale, that Kathleen, entering with a
chunk of bread raided by Gerald from the pantry window, exclaimed:--
"Not done yet. I say, Eliza, you do look ill! What's the matter?"
"I thought I'd give the room a good turn-out," said Eliza, still very
pale.
"Nothing's happened to upset you?" Kathleen asked. She had her own
private fears.
"Nothing only my fancy, miss," said Eliza. "I always was fanciful from a
child--dreaming of the pearly gates and them little angels with nothing
on only their heads and wings--so cheap to dress, I always think,
compared with children."
When she was got rid of, Mabel ate the bread and drank water from the
tooth-mug.
"I'm afraid it tastes of cherry tooth-paste rather," said Kathleen
apologetically.
"It doesn't matter," a voice replied from the tilted mug; "it's more
interesting than water. I should think red wine in ballads was rather
like this."
"We've got leave for the day again," said Kathleen, when the last bit of
bread had vanished, "and Gerald feels like I do about lies. So we're
going to tell your aunt where you really are."
"She won't believe you."
"That doesn't matter, if we speak the truth," said Kathleen primly.
"I expect you'll be sorry for it," said Mabel; "but come on--and, I say,
do be careful not to shut me in the door as you go out. You nearly did
just now."
In the blazing sunlight that flooded the High Street four shadows to
three children seemed dangerously noticeable. A butcher's boy looked far
too earnestly at the extra shadow, and his big, liver-coloured lurcher
snuffed at the legs of that shadow's mistress and whined uncomfortably.
"Get behind me," said Kathleen; "then our two shadows will look like
one."
But Mabel's shadow, very visible, fell on Kathleen's back, and the
ostler of the Davenant Arms looked up to see what big bird had cast that
big shadow.
A woman driving a cart with chickens and ducks in it called out:--
"Halloa, missy, ain't you blacked yer back neither! What you been
leaning up against?"
Every one was glad when they got out of the town.
Speaking the truth to Mabel's aunt did not turn out at all as any
one--even Mabel--expected. The aunt was discovered reading a pink
novelette at the window of the housekeeper's room, which, framed in
clematis and green creepers, looked out on a nice little courtyard to
which Mabel led the party.
"Excuse me," said Gerald, "but I believe you've lost your niece?"
"Not lost, my boy," said the aunt, who was spare and tall, with a drab
fringe and a very genteel voice.
"We could tell you something about her," said Gerald.
[Illustration: "HALLOA, MISSY, AIN'T YOU BLACKED YER BACK, NEITHER!"]
"Now," replied the aunt, in a warning voice, "no complaints, please. My
niece has gone, and I am sure no one thinks less than I do of her little
pranks. If she's played any tricks on you it's only her light-hearted
way. Go away, children, I'm busy."
"Did you get her note?" asked Kathleen.
The aunt showed rather more interest than before, but she still kept her
finger in the novelette.
"Oh," she said, "so you witnessed her departure? Did she seem glad to
go?"
"Quite," said Gerald truthfully.
"Then I can only be glad that she is provided for," said the aunt. "I
dare say you were surprised. These romantic adventures do occur in our
family. Lord Yalding selected me out of eleven applicants for the post
of housekeeper here. I've not the slightest doubt the child was changed
at birth and her rich relatives have claimed her."
"But aren't you going to do anything--tell the police, or----"
"Shish!" said Mabel.
"_I_ won't shish," said Jimmy. "Your Mabel's invisible--that's all it
is. She's just beside me now."
"I detest untruthfulness," said the aunt severely, "in all its forms.
Will you kindly take that little boy away? I am quite satisfied about
Mabel."
"_Well_," said Gerald, "you _are_ an aunt and no mistake! But what will
Mabel's father and mother say?"
"Mabel's father and mother are dead," said the aunt calmly, and a little
sob sounded close to Gerald's ear.
"All right," he said, "we'll be off. But don't you go saying we didn't
tell you the truth, that's all."
"You have told me nothing," said the aunt, "none of you, except that
little boy, who has told me a silly falsehood."
"We meant well," said Gerald gently. "You don't mind our having come
through the grounds, do you? We're very careful not to touch anything."
"No visitors are allowed," said the aunt, glancing down at her novel
rather impatiently.
"Ah! but you wouldn't count _us_ visitors," said Gerald in his best
manner. "We're friends of Mabel's. Our father's Colonel of the --th."
"Indeed!" said the aunt.
"And our aunt's Lady Sandling, so you can be sure we wouldn't hurt
anything on the estate."
"I'm sure you wouldn't hurt a fly," said the aunt absently. "Goodbye. Be
good children."
And on this they got away quickly.
"Why," said Gerald, when they were outside the little court, "your
aunt's as mad as a hatter. Fancy not caring what becomes of you, and
fancy believing that rot about the motor lady!"
"I knew she'd believe it when I wrote it," said Mabel modestly. "She's
not mad, only she's always reading novelettes. _I_ read the books in the
big library. Oh, it's such a jolly room--such a queer smell, like boots,
and old leather books sort of powdery at the edges. I'll take you there
some day. Now your consciences are all right about my aunt, I'll tell
you my great idea. Let's get down to the Temple of Flora. I'm glad you
got aunt's permission for the grounds. It would be so awkward for you to
have to be always dodging behind bushes when one of the gardeners came
along."
"Yes," said Gerald modestly, "I thought of that."
The day was as bright as yesterday had been, and from the white marble
temple the Italian-looking landscape looked more than ever like a steel
engraving coloured by hand, or an oleographic imitation of one of
Turner's pictures.
When the three children were comfortably settled on the steps that led
up to the white statue, the voice of the fourth child said sadly: "I'm
not ungrateful, but I'm rather hungry. And you can't be always taking
things for me through your larder window. If you like, I'll go back and
live in the castle. It's supposed to be haunted. I suppose I could haunt
it as well as any one else. I am a sort of ghost now, you know. I will
if you like."
"Oh no," said Kathleen kindly; "you must stay with us."
"But about food. I'm not ungrateful, really I'm not, but breakfast is
breakfast, and bread's only bread."
"If you could get the ring off, you could go back."
"Yes," said Mabel's voice, "but you see, I can't. I tried again last
night in bed, and again this morning. And it's like stealing, taking
things out of your larder--even if it's only bread."
"Yes, it is," said Gerald, who had carried out this bold enterprise.
"Well, now, what we must do is to earn some money."
Jimmy remarked that this was all very well. But Gerald and Kathleen
listened attentively.
"What I mean to say," the voice went on, "I'm really sure is all for the
best, me being invisible. We shall have adventures--you see if we
don't."
"'Adventures,' said the bold buccaneer, 'are not always profitable.'" It
was Gerald who murmured this.
"This one will be, anyhow, you see. Only you mustn't all go. Look here,
if Jerry could make himself look common----"
"That ought to be easy," said Jimmy. And Kathleen told him not to be so
jolly disagreeable.
"I'm not," said Jimmy, "only----"
"Only he has an inside feeling that this Mabel of yours is going to get
us into trouble," put in Gerald. "Like La Belle Dame Sans Merci, and he
does not want to be found in future ages alone and palely loitering in
the middle of sedge and things."
"I won't get you into trouble, indeed I won't," said the voice. "Why,
we're a band of brothers for life, after the way you stood by me
yesterday. What I mean is--Gerald can go to the fair and do conjuring."
"He doesn't know any," said Kathleen.
"_I_ should do it really," said Mabel, "but Jerry could look like doing
it. Move things without touching them and all that. But it wouldn't do
for all three of you to go. The more there are of children the younger
they look, I think, and the more people wonder what they're doing all
alone by themselves."
"The accomplished conjurer deemed these the words of wisdom," said
Gerald; and answered the dismal "Well, but what about us?" of his
brother and sister by suggesting that they should mingle unsuspected
with the crowd. "But don't let on that you know me," he said; "and try
to look as if you belonged to some of the grown-ups at the fair. If you
don't, as likely as not you'll have the kind policemen taking the little
lost children by the hand and leading them home to their stricken
relations--French governess, I mean."
"Let's go _now_," said the voice that they never could get quite used to
hearing, coming out of different parts of the air as Mabel moved from
one place to another. So they went.
The fair was held on a waste bit of land, about half a mile from the
castle gates. When they got near enough to hear the steam-organ of the
merry-go-round, Gerald suggested that as he had ninepence he should go
ahead and get something to eat, the amount spent to be paid back out of
any money they might make by conjuring. The others waited in the shadows
of a deep-banked lane, and he came back, quite soon, though long after
they had begun to say what a long time he had been gone. He brought some
Barcelona nuts, red-streaked apples, small sweet yellow pears, pale
pasty gingerbread, a whole quarter of a pound of peppermint bull's-eyes,
and two bottles of gingerbeer.
"It's what they call an investment," he said, when Kathleen said
something about extravagance. "We shall all need special nourishing to
keep our strength up, especially the bold conjurer."
They ate and drank. It was a very beautiful meal, and the far-off music
of the steam-organ added the last touch of festivity to the scene. The
boys were never tired of seeing Mabel eat, or rather of seeing the
strange, magic-looking vanishment of food which was all that showed of
Mabel's eating. They were entranced by the spectacle, and pressed on her
more than her just share of the feast, just for the pleasure of seeing
it disappear.
"My aunt!" said Gerald, again and again; "that ought to knock 'em!"
It did.
Jimmy and Kathleen had the start of the others, and when they got to the
fair they mingled with the crowd, and were as unsuspected as possible.
They stood near a large lady who was watching the cocoanut shies, and
presently saw a strange figure with its hands in its pockets strolling
across the trampled yellowy grass among the bits of drifting paper and
the sticks and straws that always litter the ground of an English fair.
It was Gerald, but at first they hardly knew him. He had taken off his
tie, and round his head, arranged like a turban, was the crimson
school-scarf that had supported his white flannels. The tie, one
supposed, had taken on the duties of the handkerchief. And his face and
hands were a bright black, like very nicely polished stoves!
Every one turned to look at him.
"He's just like a nigger!" whispered Jimmy. "I don't suppose it'll ever
come off, do you?"
They followed him at a distance, and when he went close to the door of a
small tent, against whose door-post a long-faced melancholy woman was
lounging, they stopped and tried to look as though they belonged to a
farmer who strove to send up a number by banging with a big mallet on a
wooden block.
Gerald went up to the woman.
"Taken much?" he asked, and was told, but not harshly, to go away with
his impudence.
"I'm in business myself," said Gerald, "I'm a conjurer, from India."
"Not you!" said the woman; "you ain't no nigger. Why, the backs of yer
ears is all white."
"Are they?" said Gerald. "How clever of you to see that!" He rubbed them
with his hands. "That better?"
"That's all right. What's your little game?"
"Conjuring, really and truly," said Gerald. "There's smaller boys than
me put on to it in India. Look here, I owe you one for telling me about
my ears. If you like to run the show for me I'll go shares. Let me have
your tent to perform in, and you do the patter at the door."
"Lor' love you! I can't do no patter. And you're getting at me. Let's
see you do a bit of conjuring, since you're so clever an' all."
"Right you are," said Gerald firmly. "You see this apple? Well, I'll
make it move slowly through the air, and then when I say 'Go!' it'll
vanish."
"Yes--into your mouth! Get away with your nonsense."
"You're too clever to be so unbelieving," said Gerald. "Look here!"
He held out one of the little apples, and the woman saw it move slowly
and unsupported along the air.
"Now--_go_!" cried Gerald, to the apple, and it went. "How's that?" he
asked, in tones of triumph.
The woman was glowing with excitement, and her eyes shone. "The best I
ever see!" she whispered. "I'm on, mate, if you know any more tricks
like that."
"Heaps," said Gerald confidently; "hold out your hand." The woman held
it out; and from nowhere, as it seemed, the apple appeared and was laid
on her hand. The apple was rather damp.
[Illustration: "YOU'RE GETTING AT ME. LET'S SEE YOU DO A BIT OF
CONJURING, SINCE YOU'RE SO CLEVER AN' ALL."]
She looked at it a moment, and then whispered: "Come on! there's to be
no one in it but just us two. But not in the tent. You take a pitch
here, 'longside the tent. It's worth twice the money in the open air."
"But people won't pay if they can see it all for nothing."
"Not for the first turn, but they will after--you see. And you'll have
to do the patter."
"Will you lend me your shawl?" Gerald asked. She unpinned it--it was a
red and black plaid--and he spread it on the ground as he had seen
Indian conjurers do, and seated himself cross-legged behind it.
"I mustn't have any one behind me, that's all," he said; and the woman
hastily screened off a little enclosure for him by hanging old sacks to
two of the guy-ropes of the tent. "Now I'm ready," he said. The woman
got a drum from the inside of the tent and beat it. Quite soon a little
crowd had collected.
"Ladies and gentlemen," said Gerald, "I come from India, and I can do a
conjuring entertainment the like of which you've never seen. When I see
two shillings on the shawl I'll begin."
"I dare say you will!" said a bystander; and there were several short,
disagreeable laughs.
"Of course," said Gerald, "if you can't afford two shillings between
you"--there were about thirty people in the crowd by now--"I say no
more."
Two or three pennies fell on the shawl, then a few more, then the fall
of copper ceased.
"Ninepence," said Gerald. "Well, I've got a generous nature. You'll get
such a nine-pennyworth as you've never had before. I don't wish to
deceive you--I have an accomplice, but my accomplice is invisible."
The crowd snorted.
"By the aid of that accomplice," Gerald went on, "I will read any letter
that any of you may have in your pocket. If one of you will just step
over the rope and stand beside me, my invisible accomplice will read
that letter over his shoulder."
A man stepped forward, a ruddy-faced, horsy-looking person. He pulled a
letter from his pocket and stood plain in the sight of all, in a place
where every one saw that no one could see over his shoulder.
"Now!" said Gerald. There was a moment's pause. Then from quite the
other side of the enclosure came a faint, far-away, sing-song voice. It
said:--
"'SIR,--Yours of the fifteenth duly to hand. With regard to the mortgage
on your land, we regret our inability----'"
"Stow it!" cried the man, turning threateningly on Gerald.
He stepped out of the enclosure explaining that there was nothing of
that sort in his letter; but nobody believed him, and a buzz of
interested chatter began in the crowd, ceasing abruptly when Gerald
began to speak.
"Now," said he, laying the nine pennies down on the shawl, "you keep
your eyes on those pennies, and one by one you'll see them disappear."
[Illustration: "STOW IT!" CRIED THE MAN, TURNING THREATENINGLY ON
GERALD.]
And of course they did. Then one by one they were laid down again by
the invisible hand of Mabel. The crowd clapped loudly. "Brayvo!" "That's
something like!" "Show us another!" cried the people in the front rank.
And those behind pushed forward.
"Now," said Gerald, "you've seen what I can do, but I don't do any more
till I see five shillings on this carpet."
And in two minutes seven-and-threepence lay there and Gerald did a
little more conjuring.
When the people in front didn't want to give any more money, Gerald
asked them to stand back and let the others have a look in. I wish I had
time to tell you of all the tricks he did--the grass round his enclosure
was absolutely trampled off by the feet of the people who thronged to
look at him. There is really hardly any limit to the wonders you can do
if you have an invisible accomplice. All sorts of things were made to
move about, apparently by themselves, and even to vanish--into the folds
of Mabel's clothing. The woman stood by, looking more and more pleasant
as she saw the money come tumbling in, and beating her shabby drum every
time Gerald stopped conjuring.
The news of the conjurer had spread all over the fair. The crowd was
frantic with admiration. The man who ran the cocoanut shies begged
Gerald to throw in his lot with him; the owner of the rifle gallery
offered him free board and lodging and go shares; and a brisk, broad
lady, in stiff black silk and a violet bonnet, tried to engage him for
the forthcoming Bazaar for Reformed Bandsmen.
And all this time the others mingled with the crowd--quite unobserved,
for who could have eyes for any one but Gerald? It was getting quite
late, long past tea-time, and Gerald, who was getting very tired indeed,
and was quite satisfied with his share of the money, was racking his
brains for a way to get out of it.
"How are we to hook it?" he murmured, as Mabel made his cap disappear
from his head by the simple process of taking it off and putting it in
her pocket. "They'll never let us get away. I didn't think of that
before."
"Let me think!" whispered Mabel; and next moment she said, close to his
ear: "Divide the money, and give her something for the shawl. Put the
money on it and say...." She told him what to say.
Gerald's pitch was in the shade of the tent; otherwise, of course, every
one would have seen the shadow of the invisible Mabel as she moved about
making things vanish.
Gerald told the woman to divide the money, which she did honestly
enough.
"Now," he said, while the impatient crowd pressed closer and closer.
"I'll give you five bob for your shawl."
"Seven-and-six," said the woman mechanically.
"Righto!" said Gerald, putting his heavy share of the money in his
trouser pocket.
"This shawl will now disappear," he said, picking it up. He handed it to
Mabel, who put it on; and, of course, it disappeared. A roar of
applause went up from the audience.
"Now," he said, "I come to the last trick of all. I shall take three
steps backward and vanish." He took three steps backward, Mabel wrapped
the invisible shawl round him, and--he did not vanish. The shawl, being
invisible, did not conceal him in the least.
"Yah!" cried a boy's voice in the crowd. "Look at 'im! 'E knows 'e can't
do it."
"I wish I could put you in my pocket," said Mabel. The crowd was
crowding closer. At any moment they might touch Mabel, and then anything
might happen--simply anything. Gerald took hold of his hair with both
hands, as his way was when he was anxious or discouraged. Mabel, in
invisibility, wrung her hands, as people are said to do in books; that
is, she clasped them and squeezed very tight.
"Oh!" she whispered suddenly, "it's loose. I can get it off."
"Not----"
"Yes--the ring."
"Come on, young master. Give us summat for our money," a farm labourer
shouted.
"I will," said Gerald. "This time I really will vanish. Slip round into
the tent," he whispered to Mabel. "Push the ring under the canvas. Then
slip out at the back and join the others. When I see you with them I'll
disappear. Go slow, and I'll catch you up."
= = = = =
"It's me," said a pale and obvious Mabel in the ear of Kathleen. "He's
got the ring; come on, before the crowd begins to scatter."
As they went out of the gate they heard a roar of surprise and annoyance
rise from the crowd, and knew that this time Gerald really _had_
disappeared.
They had gone a mile before they heard footsteps on the road, and looked
back. No one was to be seen.
Next moment Gerald's voice spoke out of clear, empty-looking space.
"Halloa!" it said gloomily.
"How horrid!" cried Mabel; "you did make me jump! Take the ring off. It
makes me feel quite creepy, you being nothing but a voice."
"So did you us," said Jimmy.
"Don't take it off yet," said Kathleen, who was really rather thoughtful
for her age, "because you're still black, I suppose, and you might be
recognised, and eloped with by gipsies, so that you should go on doing
conjuring for ever and ever."
"I should take it off," said Jimmy; "it's no use going about invisible,
and people seeing us with Mabel and saying we've eloped with her."
"Yes," said Mabel impatiently, "that would be simply silly. And,
besides, I want my ring."
"It's not yours any more than ours, anyhow," said Jimmy.
"Yes, it is," said Mabel.
"Oh, stow it!" said the weary voice of Gerald beside her. "What's the
use of jawing?"
"I want the ring," said Mabel, rather mulishly.
"Want"--the words came out of the still evening air--"want must be your
master. You can't have the ring. _I can't get it off!_"