“I’ll bust her up this very night,” said Waterer. “I would have done it before, only I was gated.”
The excuse was good, and Waterer departed, full of boastings and self-confidence, to gather together a large number of the noisy men, and make a pleasant party to “guy” the unhappy Loadstone. I stayed to smoke a pipe with the rajah.
“Of course she’s a fraud,” said he; “and I believe that animal really has got hold of the right explanation.”
“I shall go and see it,” I announced.
After a moment’s silent smoking, the rajah looked up with a twinkle in his eye. “So shall I—if niggers are admitted.”
After hall, he and I set out together for the town hall. We found the first two rows of stalls occupied by Waterer and his friends. They were all in evening dress, and had obviously dined—not in hall. The rajah and I seated ourselves just behind them. The room was full, and the feats were being most successful; each was followed by general applause, broken only by some gibes from our friends in front. These latter grew so pronounced that the Loadstone’s manager at last came forward and pointedly invited one of the scoffers to submit himself to experiment.
Now was Waterer’s chance. He rose in the majesty of his bulk, walked on to the platform, and said in a loud voice, as he settled himself on a chair, “If the lady can move me one foot from this chair, I’ll give her a pony!”
The Loadstone advanced and began to paw him about in her usual fashion. Waterer, who was sober enough to have lost nothing but his shyness, was apparently too many for her. He was immovable; and cries of, “Now then! when are you going to begin?” and so on, became audible. Two or three minutes passed, and the Loadstone turned with a gesture of despair toward her manager.
“I can’t——” she began.
I jumped to my feet, crying, “Wait a minute! Look!”