Democratic Sentinel, Volume 6, Number 31, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 1 September 1882 — A CONJURER’S FEAT. [ARTICLE]

A CONJURER’S FEAT.

The signor was giving a series of highly successful performances in the city of Mobile; where (as he tells us in his autobiography) people came to consult him privately about love-affairs, matters of business and future events, thinking that one who could do such wonders must be able to unravel all the mysteries of life. It was a rather primitive, simpleminded community in those days. In vain he disclaimed the fortune-telling Eowers ascribed to him. It was still beeved that he could give the required information if he would. He was one day in the hall, preparing for the evening’s performance, when an elderly gentleman called upon him, and. with profound respect asked the honor of taking him by the hand. “ I saw your doings here last night,” said the visitor, “and let my tell ye, ’twas the most wonderfullest thing I ever did see ! I never laughed so in all my born days I” “I am glad you were pleased,” replied the signor politely. ‘ ‘ How you could take so many eggs out of a bag that had just been thrashed on the stage and trampled on, upset all my calc’lations ! And hew could you know that a stranger in the middle of the hall had a chicken hid under his coat ? I couldn’t see a feather of it till you called him up and pulled the squawkin’ critter out I” The signor smilingly listened to a good deal more talk of this sort, until the speaker came to the object of his visit. “They do say, signor, that there’s nothing you don’t know, or can’t find out if you try. And I’ve come to consult you”—the old gentleman looked cautiously about the hall, and lowered his voice—“on a question that I’d willingly give one of my fingers to unpuzzlo. ” “That’s probably a question I couldn’t unpuzzle if all my fingers depended on it,” replied the signor. “I’ve no such powers, outside of my own business, as many people suppose.” “Make this your business, and I’ll reward you well for it, ” said the visitor. “My name is Oatman. I live on my plantation in summer, and bring my family to town in winter. We bring only two servants with us, and they are old family servants, that I ean’t think would steal from us. ”

“You have been robbed?” suggested the signor.” “Now, how did you ever find that out ?” cried the planter, astonished. “You just told me,” laughed the signor. “ Not I!” chuckled the other, with a sagacious shake of the head. “I hadn’t come to that part of my story. But I see you read my thoughts before I can out with them. I have been robbed; in the strangest way 1” As every well-to-do planter carried his watch and dangling fob-chain, and as Mr. Oatman’s person showed none, the signor, who was fond of a joke, could not help answering, in fortune-telling fashion: “ Your watch has been taken 1” “ Now how could you know that ?” the simple-minded man exclaimed, in delighted surprise. “It was the first thing I missed. Then we made search, and found that my wife’s diamond ring was gone, and that over S2OO had been filched from my till.” “The thief must have been acquainted with the premises,” suggested the signor. “There, you hit it again 1” said the planter, with lively satisfaction. “You score one every time. He must know the premises, whoever he is ; and that’s the strange part of it. Servants faithful—Good Lord, they wouldn’t know what to do with the money and things if they had them ! Only our son and daughter living with us. A few intimate friends come in, that I trust as far as I’d trust myself. Now, whe could have robbed us ?”

The worthy Oatman aimed this question point-blank at the signor, who answered seriously that he could not telk “ You can tell! I’m sure you can tell!” the planter insisted stoutly. “ I haven’t come here without consulting my family. My wife and daughter both advised me to come. Only my son tried to dissuade me. He said you couldn’t know anything about such matters, and I would onl v be making a bad matter worse. But then he hasn’t seen your wonderful performances. ” A quick suspicion shot through the signor’s intuitive mind. “ Your son was right; he gave you good advice. I dare say he was quite anxious that you should keep away from me ?’’ “ Indeed he was I” said the planter. ‘ ‘ He was so worked up about it, I had to partly promise I wouldn’t come, before he would let me leave the house. He said I would make a fool of myself, and I said, ‘ Well, well, George, I won’t!’ He thought I meant I wouldn’t consult you. But what I really meant was—” “ That you wouldn’t make a fool of yourself,” the signor interrupted. “And here you’re doing it, I’m afraid, after all !” •“ No ! no 1” cried the planter, confidently. “ You just come around to ie house with me, examine the premises, and talk with the folks, and I’m positive you can guess the riddle, if you haven’t guessed it already. Ah !” he laughed, gleefully, “ I see by your eye you have guessed it 1” Indeed, the suspicion which had ent» red the signor’s mind had become al • most a certainty; and it was not without hope of being able to solve this mystery, to his own satisfaction if not to the planter’s, that he finally consented to visit the house.

He was introduced to the planter’s wife and daughter; saw the servants—a simple old negro and his wife; and was shown the room from which the valuables had been purloined. While he was thus engaged, a finelooking young fellow, but with a rather careworn face for one hardly yet out of his teens, came and stood in the doorway. “Ah 1 Signor, here is my son,” said Mr. Oitman, .slightly embarrassed. “You see, George, I—l—thought best to—vou won’t mind, my boy; for asking him it can’t do any hurt, if it don’t do any good.” “ All tight I” said George, carelessly. But the signor, who exchanged glances with him, saw that his lip twitched nervously, and that there was an anxious look in his eye. “ Your father has an extravagant notion of my poor abilities,” the signor remarked in a friendly tone. “ You haven’t witnessed my performances ?” “I haven’t had that pleasure,” the youth replied, dryly. “No doubt you have been more pleasantly employed. The city offers a good many attractions to a spirited young man; and I see by your looks.” the signor added, with a meaning smile, •• that

you are not one of those dullards who go to bed at dusk.” George smiled in a glassy sort of way, and seemed trying to bring put some careless reply, when his mother remarked, complainingly: ? “George keeps very late hours this winter. I’m so sorry ! for any one can see it isn’t good for him.” “He used to make calls with me, evenings,” said the sister. “But he never does, now-days. I can’t think what he finds to amuse himself so late, every night.” “I can think,” said the signor. “I know the city, an d I know young men. Fm sorry, George!” He looked the young man keenly in the eye, as he continued : «• If you had been in the habit of remaining at home nights, this theft never would have taken place 1” By the look, and the words, and still more by the tone in which the words were spoken, poor George must have perceived that his secret was in the signor’s possession. Still the truthful par - ents and affectionate sister remained free from the slightest suspicion of his guilt. “ I reckon that’s true, signor!” said the father. “ George is known to be a capital shot, and no burglars would ventture in the house when he was at home. Do you discover anything more ?” “ Being a stranger here,” the signor replied, “I can’t make up my mind at once. If your son should set about it, i ve no douot tie could clear up cue mystery very quickly; but 1 shall have to study over it awhile. ” Declining to say anything more definite, but promising that the family should hear from him if he succeeded io finding the lost treasures, he presently took leave, giving George a very significant look at parting. He had not been long at the hall, pondering over the painful problem he had been set to solve—haunted by the pale face of the guilty son—when the face itself appeared before him. “Ah, George 1” said the signor, kindly ; “I am glad to see you.” The youth came forward slowly, too much agitated to speak. Then, apparently touched by the signor’s sympathetic manner, he broke forth imploringly; “For mercy’s sake, sir, don t expose me 1” “My dear George 1” replied the signor, taking his outstretched hands, “I shall not expose you if I can help it. But let’s understand each other. Tell me all about it. ” “You know it all!” exclaimed the wretched youth, beginning to tremble and sob violently. “ I know something. You have fallen in with bad companions. But how could you—how could you deceive and wrong your own parents ?” “Because I am ’an idiot! because I am the most miserable, ungrateful, wicked son that ever had good parents to wrong!” said George, in a convulsion of remorse and despair. “ But I didn’t mean to rob them. ”

“I know,” said the signor. “You meant to return what you took. That’s what every well brought-up young man means when he takes the first step in crimes of this sort.” Truly I meant it!” George protested. “I took the money first, hoping to win back with it what I had lost at play. Then when I had lost that, I took the ring. Then, desperate fool as I was, I took the watch and pledged it. That led to the discovery. If it hadn’t been for that, all would have been well. ” “ How so ?” the signor inquired. “Last night the luck turned,” said George, “ and I won back a good part of what I have lost; enough to reeover the watch and ring and all the money I took from the till.” “ Is it possible?” exclaimed the signor, astonished. “I have it all here,” said George, touching his coat. “It was in my pocket when you came to the house; didn’t you know it?” The signor was ooliged to confess that he had not seen so far as that. “I was in distress, trying to invent some way of returning the things without being found out—trying to keep my father quiet—when he brought you in and spoiled all! Unless,” said George, with looks of entreaty,—“unless you will be merciful and help me?” *• I will help you on one condition, ” said the signor. “ Name it! I will do anything!” the youth eagerly promised. “I only ask you not to do a certain thing,” said the signor. “You know what it is—the greatest folly and sin a young man can be guilty of.” “ I know what you mean,” George reEhed. “Gambling. I have found out y experience what misery it leads to. And I had vowed that if I could only win ba,ck enough to save my honor, I would never—never —never play again! And I never will!”

“ Then trust me to make everything right with your father,” said the signor, again clasping the young man’s hand. “Will you leave all to me?” “ I shall be so glad to, if you will take the trouble,” said George. A few minutes later, relieved of his dreadful burden, with a lighter and more hopeful heart than he had carried •in his breast for days, he departed, leaving the signor to work out the delicate question in his own way. That afternoon the signor dispatched a note to Mr. Oatman, informing him that it was quite important he should be present at the evening’s performance. In due time, accordingly, the planter appeared with his whole family—wife and daughter and son—and took his place with them at the end of a seat, only a few steps in front of the performer. There was a crowded audience, and everything went off charmingly. The egg trick was repeated by particular request, and afforded as much amusement as ever. The signor allowed himself to be shot at, and caught the bullet in his teeth. Ladies saw their handkerchiefs cut Up and made into an omelette, and afterward restored to them neatly ironed and folded. A pair of doves were found in a lady’s bonnet, and a rabbit in an old gentleman’s hat. So the signor went through with his stock performances—all a delightful novelty then and there, though so familiar to other audiences in later times I At length he had occasion to borrow another hat. He stepped down to the seat occupied by the Oatman family, who were among his most interested spectators. “ Perhaps you will lend me yours. ” he remarked, “if I will promise to be careful of it. ” The planter handed his large and somewhat seedy hat with a broad smile. George looked on with bright eyes and a throbbing heart. The signor stepped back to his table, when, looking into the hat, he gave a start of surprise, and with a frown of feigned displeasure turned to address the audience.

“I have particularly requested,” he said, “ that gentlemen should be careful to empty their hats before handing them to me. One hat came into my hands, you noticed, half full of turnips. And now remark the incredible carelessness of the owner of this one I” So saying, he put his hand into the hat and drew out a gold watch, which he held by the chain. “ A hat seems a very unsafe place for carrying a watch; and why couldn’t the gentleman have taken the trouble to remove something so valuable before lending it to me? But what is here ?” Haying placed the watch on the table the signor shook the hat and turned it toward the audience, showing it be partly filled with loose bank-notes. These i to remove by the handful, plyfog . them on the table with the watch with many exclamations of sur-

prise, amid roars of laughter from the spectators. Then he shook the hat again to see if it was empty at last; and, hearing something rattle, fished out a ring. “A gold ring!” he exclaimed, holding it ud before the audience. “ A diamond ring!” letting it sparkle in the light. “Now, what a temptation this is to place before an honest conjurer ! I’ll have nothing more to do with this hat and its contents.” With these words he produced the climax of astonishment by handing the hat back to the owner with the banknotes crowded into it, and giving him the watch and ring. The most pleased and wonder-struck person present was probably the planter himself, as he showed the treasures lo his wife and children, and they recognized the genuineness of the articles. Perhaps George was not jso surprised as the rest, but he had reason to feel a keener joy than anybody else. Meanwhile the signor stepped back to the platform and said, with a bow : “Ladies and gentlemen, the evening’s performance is ended.” Mr. Oatman called on the conjurer again the next day, and urged him to accept a reward for the recovery of his property, and also to explain the way the thing was done. The signor declined to do either, saying that if he should explain his tricks to everybody who asked about them, he would soon have no surprises left for the public. The planter thanked him most heartily, and they parted the best of friends. The youth he had helped rescue from ruin also called, and begged to know how he could show his gratitude to the friendly conjurer. “There is only one way,” said the signor, taking him by the hand and looking earnestly into his eyes. “Be kind and true to your good parents and dear sister, and keep your promise never, never to fall into the odious vice of gambling again.” The youth renewed his vows, which the conjurer had the satisfaction, long afterward, of knowing had been faithfully kept. As for the planter’s family, we may be sure that they never ceased to think with gratitude of the wonderful Signor Blitz. Youth's Companion.