“His weight has broken the scales,” another member declared.
“You may think,” the magician went on, “that I have bewitched the spring. Will somebody lift the Judge?”
Professor Gray, who happened to stand nearest, put out one hand and picked the venerable Judge up as easily as he would have lifted a pocket-handkerchief. As he took his victim by the collar, the effect did not tend toward solemnity.
“What do you mean, sir?” demanded the Judge. “Put me down, sir, at once.”
The stranger made a little sign with his hand. The Professor saw and understood, so instead of putting Judge Hobart down, he lightly tossed the rotund figure upward. The Judge, probably more to his amazement than to his satisfaction, found himself floating in the air with his head against the ceiling, and with his legs paddling hopelessly as if he were learning to swim. The other members shouted with laughter.
“That will do,” the magician said. “I did not mean to turn things into a farce.”
The ponderous form of Judge Hobart floated softly to the floor; his face showed a wonderful mixture of bewilderment, wounded vanity, and relief.
“It’s very warm at the top of the room,” he said, wiping his red forehead; “very warm. Heat rises so.”