Seated at his ease in the warm tap-room of the Cauliflower, the strangerhad been eating and drinking for some time, apparently unconscious ofthe presence of the withered ancient who, huddled up in that corner ofthe settle which was nearer to the fire, fidgeted restlessly with anempty mug and blew with pathetic insistence through a churchwarden pipewhich had long been cold. The stranger finished his meal with a sigh ofcontent and then, rising from his chair, crossed over to the settle and,placing his mug on the time-worn table before him, began to fill hispipe.
The old man took a spill from the table and, holding it with tremblingfingers to the blaze, gave him a light. The other thanked him, and then,leaning back in his corner of the settle, watched the smoke of his pipethrough half-closed eyes, and assented drowsily to the old man's remarksupon the weather.
"Bad time o' the year for going about," said the latter, "though Is'pose if you can eat and drink as much as you want it don't matter. Is'pose you mightn't be a conjurer from London, sir?"
The traveller shook his head.
"I was 'oping you might be," said the old man. The other manifested nocuriosity.
"If you 'ad been," said the old man, with a sigh, "I should ha' askedyou to ha' done something useful. Gin'rally speaking, conjurers dothings that are no use to anyone; wot I should like to see a conjurer dowould be to make this 'ere empty mug full o' beer and this empty pipefull o' shag tobacco. That's wot I should ha' made bold to ask you to doif you'd been one."
The traveller sighed, and, taking his short briar pipe from his mouth bythe bowl, rapped three times upon the table with it. In a very shorttime a mug of ale and a paper cylinder of shag appeared on the tablebefore the old man.
"Wot put me in mind o' your being a conjurer," said the latter, fillinghis pipe after a satisfying draught from the mug, "is that you'reuncommon like one that come to Claybury some time back and give aperformance in this very room where we're now a-sitting. So far as looksgo, you might be his brother."
The traveller said that he never had a brother.
We didn't know 'e was a conjurer at fust, said the old man. He 'ad comedown for Wickham Fair and, being a day or two before 'and, 'e was goingto different villages round about to give performances. He came into thebar 'ere and ordered a mug o' beer, and while 'e was a-drinking of itstood talking about the weather. Then 'e asked Bill Chambers to excuse'im for taking the liberty, and, putting his 'and to Bill's mug, tookout a live frog. Bill was a very partikler man about wot 'e drunk, and Ithought he'd ha' had a fit. He went on at Smith, the landlord, somethingshocking, and at last, for the sake o' peace and quietness, Smith gave'im another pint to make up for it.
"It must ha' been asleep in the mug," he ses.
Bill said that 'e thought 'e knew who must ha' been asleep, and was justgoing to take a drink, when the conjurer asked 'im to excuse 'im agin.Bill put down the mug in a 'urry, and the conjurer put his 'and to themug and took out a dead mouse. It would ha' been a 'ard thing to saywhich was the most upset, Bill Chambers or Smith, the landlord, andBill, who was in a terrible state, asked why it was everything seemed toget into his mug.
"P'r'aps you're fond o' dumb animals, sir," ses the conjurer. "Do you'appen to notice your coat-pocket is all of a wriggle?"
He put his 'and to Bill's pocket and took out a little green snake; thenhe put his 'and to Bill's trouser-pocket and took out a frog, while poreBill's eyes looked as if they was corning out o' their sockets.
"Keep still," ses the conjurer; "there's a lot more to come yet."
Bill Chambers gave a 'owl that was dreadful to listen to, and then 'epushed the conjurer away and started undressing 'imself as fast as hecould move 'is fingers. I believe he'd ha' taken off 'is shirt if it 'ad'ad pockets in it, and then 'e stuck 'is feet close together and 'e keptjumping into the air, and coming down on to 'is own clothes in hishobnailed boots.
"He ain't fond o' dumb animals, then," ses the conjurer. Then he put his'and on his 'art and bowed.
"Gentlemen all," he ses. "'Aving given you this specimen of wot I cando, I beg to give notice that with the landlord's kind permission Ishall give my celebrated conjuring entertainment in the tap-room thisevening at seven o'clock; ad--mission, three-pence each."
They didn't understand 'im at fust, but at last they see wot 'e meant,and arter explaining to Bill, who was still giving little jumps, theyled 'im up into a corner and coaxed 'im into dressing 'imself agin. Hewanted to fight the conjurer, but 'e was that tired 'e could scarcelystand, and by-and-by Smith, who 'ad said 'e wouldn't 'ave anything to dowith it, gave way and said he'd risk it.
The tap-room was crowded that night, but we all 'ad to pay threepenceeach--coining money, I call it. Some o' the things wot he done was veryclever, but a'most from the fust start-off there was unpleasantness.When he asked somebody to lend 'im a pocket-'andkercher to turn into awhite rabbit, Henery Walker rushed up and lent 'im 'is, but instead of awhite rabbit it turned into a black one with two white spots on it, andarter Henery Walker 'ad sat for some time puzzling over it 'e got up andwent off 'ome without saying good-night to a soul.
Then the conjurer borrowed Sam Jones's hat, and arter looking into itfor some time 'e was that surprised and astonished that Sam Jones lost'is temper and asked 'im whether he 'adn't seen a hat afore.
"Not like this," ses the conjurer. And 'e pulled out a woman's dress andjacket and a pair o' boots. Then 'e took out a pound or two o' tatersand some crusts o' bread and other things, and at last 'e gave it backto Sam Jones and shook 'is head at 'im, and told 'im if he wasn't verycareful he'd spoil the shape of it.
Then 'e asked somebody to lend 'im a watch, and, arter he 'ad promisedto take the greatest care of it, Dicky Weed, the tailor, lent 'im a goldwatch wot 'ad been left 'im by 'is great-aunt when she died. Dicky Weedthought a great deal o' that watch, and when the conjurer took aflat-iron and began to smash it up into little bits it took three men tohold 'im down in 'is seat.
"This is the most difficult trick o' the lot," ses the conjurer, pickingoff a wheel wot 'ad stuck to the flat-iron. "Sometimes I can do it andsometimes I can't. Last time I tried it it was a failure, and it cost meeighteenpence and a pint o' beer afore the gentleman the watch 'adbelonged to was satisfied. I gave 'im the bits, too."
"If you don't give me my watch back safe and sound," ses Dicky Weed, ina trembling voice, "it'll cost you twenty pounds."
"'Ow much?" ses the conjurer, with a start. "Well, I wish you'd told methat afore you lent it to me. Eighteenpence is my price."
He stirred the broken bits up with 'is finger and shook his 'ead.
"I've never tried one o' these old-fashioned watches afore," he ses."'Owever, if I fail, gentle-men, it'll be the fust and only trick I'vefailed in to-night. You can't expect everything to turn out right, butif I do fail this time, gentlemen, I'll try it agin if anybody else'lllend me another watch."
Dicky Weed tried to speak but couldn't, and 'e sat there, with 'is facepale, staring at the pieces of 'is watch on the conjurer's table. Thenthe conjurer took a big pistol with a trumpet-shaped barrel out of 'isbox, and arter putting in a charge o' powder picked up the pieces o'watch and rammed them in arter it. We could hear the broken bits gratingagin the ramrod, and arter he 'ad loaded it 'e walked round and handedit to us to look at.
"It's all right," he ses to Dicky Weed; "it's going to be a success; Icould tell in the loading."
He walked back to the other end of the room and held up the pistol.
"I shall now fire this pistol," 'e ses, "and in so doing mend the watch.The explosion of the powder makes the bits o' glass join together agin;in flying through the air the wheels go round and round collecting allthe other parts, and the watch as good as new and ticking away its'ardest will be found in the coat-pocket o' the gentleman I shoot at."
He pointed the pistol fust at one and then at another, as if 'e couldn'tmake up 'is mind, and none of 'em seemed to 'ave much liking for it.Peter Gubbins told 'im not to shoot at 'im because he 'ad a 'ole in hispocket, and Bill Chamb
ers, when it pointed at 'im, up and told 'im tolet somebody else 'ave a turn. The only one that didn't flinch was BobPretty, the biggest poacher and the greatest rascal in Claybury. He'dbeen making fun o' the tricks all along, saying out loud that he'd seen'em all afore--and done better.
"Go on," he ses; "I ain't afraid of you; you can't shoot straight."
The conjurer pointed the pistol at 'im. Then 'e pulled the trigger andthe pistol went off bang, and the same moment o' time Bob Pretty jumpedup with a 'orrible scream, and holding his 'ands over 'is eyes dancedabout as though he'd gone mad.
Everybody started up at once and got round 'im, and asked 'im wot wasthe matter; but Bob didn't answer 'em. He kept on making a dreadfulnoise, and at last 'e broke out of the room and, holding 'is 'andkercherto 'is face, ran off 'ome as 'ard as he could run.
"You've done it now, mate," ses Bill Chambers to the conjurer. "Ithought you wouldn't be satisfied till you'd done some 'arm. You've beenand blinded pore Bob Pretty."
"Nonsense," ses the conjurer. "He's frightened, that's all."
"Frightened!" ses Peter Gubbins. "Why, you fired Dicky Weed's watchstraight into 'is face."
"Rubbish," ses the conjurer; "it dropped into 'is pocket, and he'll findit there when 'e comes to 'is senses."
"Do you mean to tell me that Bob Pretty 'as gone off with my watch in'is pocket?" screams Dicky Weed.
"I do," ses the other.
"You'd better get 'old of Bob afore 'e finds it out, Dicky," ses BillChambers.
Dicky Weed didn't answer 'im; he was already running along to BobPretty's as fast as 'is legs would take 'im, with most of us folleringbehind to see wot 'appened.
The door was fastened when we got to it, but Dicky Weed banged away atit as 'ard as he could bang, and at last the bedroom winder went up andMrs. Pretty stuck her 'ead out.
"H'sh!" she ses, in a whisper. "Go away."
"I want to see Bob," ses Dicky Weed.
"You can't see 'im," ses Mrs. Pretty. "I'm getting 'im to bed. He's beenshot, pore dear. Can't you 'ear 'im groaning?"
We 'adn't up to then, but a'most direckly arter she 'ad spoke you couldha' heard Bob's groans a mile away. Dreadful, they was.
"There, there, pore dear," ses Mrs. Pretty.
"Shall I come in and 'elp you get 'im to bed?" ses Dicky Weed, 'arfcrying.
"No, thank you, Mr. Weed," ses Mrs. Pretty. "It's very kind of you tooffer, but 'e wouldn't like any hands but mine to touch 'im. I'll sendin and let you know 'ow he is fust thing in the morning."
"Try and get 'old of the coat, Dicky," ses Bill Chambers, in a whisper."Offer to mend it for 'im. It's sure to want it."
"Well, I'm sorry I can't be no 'elp to you," ses Dicky Weed, "but Inoticed a rent in Bob's coat and, as 'e's likely to be laid up a bit, itud be a good opportunity for me to mend it for 'im. I won't charge 'imnothing. If you drop it down I'll do it now."
"Thankee," ses Mrs. Pretty; "if you just wait a moment I'll clear thepockets out and drop it down to you."
She turned back into the bedroom, and Dicky Weed ground 'is teethtogether and told Bill Chambers that the next time he took 'is advicehe'd remember it. He stood there trembling all over with temper, andwhen Mrs. Pretty came to the winder agin and dropped the coat on his'ead and said that Bob felt his kindness very much, and he 'oped Dickyud make a good job of it, because it was 'is favrite coat, he couldn'tspeak. He stood there shaking all over till Mrs. Pretty 'ad shut thewinder down agin, and then 'e turned to the conjurer, as 'ad come upwith the rest of us, and asked 'im wot he was going to do about it now.
"I tell you he's got the watch," ses the conjurer, pointing up at thewinder. "It went into 'is pocket. I saw it go. He was no more shot thanyou were. If 'e was, why doesn't he send for the doctor?"
"I can't 'elp that," ses Dicky Weed. "I want my watch or else twentypounds."
"We'll talk it over in a day or two," ses the conjurer. "I'm giving mycelebrated entertainment at Wickham Fair on Monday, but I'll come back'ere to the Cauliflower the Saturday before and give anotherentertainment, and then we'll see wot's to be done. I can't run away,because in any case I can't afford to miss the fair."
Dicky Weed gave way at last and went off 'ome to bed and told 'is wifeabout it, and listening to 'er advice he got up at six o'clock in themorning and went round to see 'ow Bob Pretty was.
Mrs. Pretty was up when 'e got there, and arter calling up the stairs toBob told Dicky Weed to go upstairs. Bob Pretty was sitting up in bedwith 'is face covered in bandages, and he seemed quite pleased to see'im.
"It ain't everybody that ud get up at six o'clock to see 'ow I'm gettingon," he ses. "You've got a feeling 'art, Dicky."
Dicky Weed coughed and looked round, wondering whether the watch was inthe room, and, if so, where it was hidden.
"Now I'm 'ere I may as well tidy up the room for you a bit," he ses,getting up. "I don't like sitting idle."
"Thankee, mate," ses Bob; and 'e lay still and watched Dicky Weed out ofthe corner of the eye that wasn't covered with the bandages.
I don't suppose that room 'ad ever been tidied up so thoroughly sincethe Prettys 'ad lived there, but Dicky Weed couldn't see anything o' thewatch, and wot made 'im more angry than anything else was Mrs. Prettysetting down in a chair with 'er 'ands folded in her lap and pointingout places that he 'adn't done.
"You leave 'im alone," ses Bob. "He knows wot 'e's arter. Wot did you dowith those little bits o' watch you found when you was bandaging me up,missis?"
"Don't ask me," ses Mrs. Pretty. "I was in such a state I don't know wotI was doing 'ardly."
"Well, they must be about somewhere," ses Bob. "You 'ave a look for 'em,Dicky, and if you find 'em, keep 'em. They belong to you."
Dicky Weed tried to be civil and thank 'im, and then he went off 'omeand talked it over with 'is wife agin. People couldn't make up theirminds whether Bob Pretty 'ad found the watch in 'is pocket and wasshamming, or whether 'e was really shot, but they was all quite certainthat, whichever way it was, Dicky Weed would never see 'is watch agin.
On the Saturday evening this 'ere Cauliflower public-'ouse was crowded,everybody being anxious to see the watch trick done over agin. We had'eard that it 'ad been done all right at Cudford and Monksham; but BobPretty said as 'ow he'd believe it when 'e saw it, and not afore.
He was one o' the fust to turn up that night, because 'e said 'e wantedto know wot the conjurer was going to pay him for all 'is pain andsuffering and having things said about 'is character. He came in leaningon a stick, with 'is face still bandaged, and sat right up close to theconjurer's table, and watched him as 'ard as he could as 'e went through'is tricks.
"And now," ses the conjurer, at last, "I come to my celebrated watchtrick. Some of you as wos 'ere last Tuesday when I did it will rememberthat the man I fired the pistol at pretended that 'e'd been shot and runoff 'ome with it in 'is pocket."
"You're a liar!" ses Bob Pretty, standing up. "Very good," ses theconjurer; "you take that bandage off and show us all where you're hurt."
"I shall do nothing o' the kind," ses Bob. I don't take my orders fromyou."
"Take the bandage off," ses the conjurer, "and if there's any shot marksI'll give you a couple o' sovereigns."
"I'm afraid of the air getting to it," ses Bob Pretty.
"You don't want to be afraid o' that, Bob," ses John Biggs, theblacksmith, coming up behind and putting 'is great arms round 'im. "Takeoff that rag, somebody; I've got hold of 'im."
Bob Pretty started to struggle at fust, but then, seeing it was no good,kept quite quiet while they took off the bandages.
"There! look at 'im," ses the conjurer, pointing. "Not a mark on 'isface, not one."
"Wet!" ses Bob Pretty. "Do you mean to say there's no marks?"
"I do," ses the conjurer.
"Thank goodness," ses Bob Pretty, clasping his 'ands. "Thank goodness! Iwas afraid I was disfigured for life. Lend me a bit o' looking-glass,somebody. I can 'ardly believe it."
"You stole Dicky Weed's watch,"
ses John Biggs. "I 'ad my suspicions ofyou all along. You're a thief, Bob Pretty. That's wot you are."
"Prove it," ses Bob Pretty. "You 'eard wot the conjurer said the othernight, that the last time he tried 'e failed, and 'ad to giveeighteenpence to the man wot the watch 'ad belonged to."
"That was by way of a joke like," ses the conjurer to John Biggs. "I canalways do it. I'm going to do it now. Will somebody 'ave the kindness tolend me a watch?"
He looked all round the room, but nobody offered--except other men'swatches, wot wouldn't lend 'em.
"Come, come," he ses; "ain't none of you got any trust in me? It'll beas safe as if it was in your pocket. I want to prove to you that thisman is a thief."
He asked 'em agin, and at last John Biggs took out 'is silver watch andoffered it to 'im on the understanding that 'e was on no account to fireit into Bob Pretty's pocket.
"Not likely," ses the conjurer. "Now, everybody take a good look at thiswatch, so as to make sure there's no deceiving."
He 'anded it round, and arter everybody 'ad taken a look at it 'e tookit up to the table and laid it down.
"Let me 'ave a look at it," ses Bob Pretty, going up to the table. "I'mnot going to 'ave my good name took away for nothing if I can 'elp it."
He took it up and looked at it, and arter 'olding it to 'is ear put itdown agin.
"Is that the flat-iron it's going to be smashed with?" he ses.
"It is," ses the conjurer, looking at 'im nasty like; "p'r'aps you'dlike to examine it."
Bob Pretty took it and looked at it. "Yes, mates," he ses, "it's aordinary flat-iron. You couldn't 'ave anything better for smashing awatch with."
He 'eld it up in the air and, afore anybody could move, brought it downbang on the face o' the watch. The conjurer sprang at 'im and caught at'is arm, but it was too late, and in a terrible state o' mind 'e turnedround to John Biggs.
"He's smashed your watch," he ses; "he's smashed your watch."
"Well," ses John Biggs, "it 'ad got to be smashed, 'adn't it?"
"Yes, but not by 'im," ses the conjurer, dancing about. "I wash my 'andsof it now."
"Look 'ere," ses John Biggs; "don't you talk to me about washing your'ands of it. You finish your trick and give me my watch back agin sameas it was afore."
"Not now he's been interfering with it," ses the conjurer. "He'd betterdo the trick now as he's so clever."
"I'd sooner 'ave you do it," ses John Biggs. "Wot did you let 'iminterfere for?"
"'Ow was I to know wot 'e was going to do?" ses the conjurer. "You mustsettle it between you now. I'll 'ave nothing more to do with it."
"All right, John Biggs," ses Bob Pretty; "if 'e won't do it, I will. Ifit can be done, I don't s'pose it matters who does it. I don't thinkanybody could smash up a watch better than that."
John Biggs looked at it, and then 'e asked the conjurer once more to dothe trick, but 'e wouldn't.
"It can't be done now," he ses; "and I warn you that if that pistol isfired I won't be responsible for what'll 'appen."
"George Kettle shall load the pistol and fire it if 'e won't," ses BobPretty. "'Aving been in the Militia, there couldn't be a better man forthe job."
George Kettle walked up to the table as red as fire at being praisedlike that afore people and started loading the pistol. He seemed to bemore awkward about it than the conjurer 'ad been the last time, and he'ad to roll the watch-cases up with the flat-iron afore 'e could get 'emin. But 'e loaded it at last and stood waiting.
"Don't shoot at me, George Kettle," ses Bob. "I've been called a thiefonce, and I don't want to be agin."
"Put that pistol down, you fool, afore you do mischief," ses theconjurer.
"Who shall I shoot at?" ses George Kettle, raising the pistol.
"Better fire at the conjurer, I think," ses Bob Pretty; "and if things'appen as he says they will 'appen, the watch ought to be found in 'iscoat-pocket."
"Where is he?" ses George, looking round.
Bill Chambers laid 'old of 'im just as he was going through the door tofetch the landlord, and the scream 'e gave as he came back and GeorgeKettle pointed the pistol at 'im was awful.
"It's no worse for you than it was for me," ses Bob.
"Put it down," screams the conjurer; "put it down. You'll kill 'arf themen in the room if it goes off."
"Be careful where you aim, George," ses Sam Jones. "P'r'aps he'd better'ave a chair all by hisself in the middle of the room."
It was all very well for Sam Jones to talk, but the conjurer wouldn'tsit on a chair by 'imself. He wouldn't sit on it at all. He seemed to beall legs and arms, and the way 'e struggled it took four or five men to'old 'im.
"Why don't you keep still?" ses John Biggs. "George Kettle'll shoot itin your pocket all right. He's the best shot in Claybury."
"Help! Murder!" says the conjurer, struggling. "He'll kill me. Nobodycan do the trick but me."
"But you say you won't do it," ses John Biggs. "Not now," ses theconjurer; "I can't."
"Well, I'm not going to 'ave my watch lost through want of trying," sesJohn Biggs. "Tie 'im to the chair, mates."
"All right, then," ses the conjurer, very pale. "Don't tie me; I'll sitstill all right if you like, but you'd better bring the chair outside incase of accidents. Bring it in the front."
George Kettle said it was all nonsense, but the conjurer said the trickwas always better done in the open air, and at last they gave way andtook 'im and the chair outside.
"Now," ses the conjurer, as 'e sat down, "all of you go and stand nearthe man woe's going to shoot. When I say 'Three,' fire. Why! there's thewatch on the ground there!"
He pointed with 'is finger, and as they all looked down he jumped up outo' that chair and set off on the road to Wickham as 'ard as 'e couldrun. It was so sudden that nobody knew wot 'ad 'appened for a moment,and then George Kettle, wot 'ad been looking with the rest, turned roundand pulled the trigger.
There was a bang that pretty nigh deafened us, and the back o' the chairwas blown nearly out. By the time we'd got our senses agin the conjurerwas a'most out o' sight, and Bob Pretty was explaining to John Biggs wota good job it was 'is watch 'adn't been a gold one.
"That's wot comes o' trusting a foreigner afore a man wot you've knownall your life," he ses, shaking his 'ead. "I 'ope the next man wot triesto take my good name away won't get off so easy. I felt all along thetrick couldn't be done; it stands to reason it couldn't. I done my best,too."
ADMIRAL PETERS