"Ladies and gentlemen," he said, "I propose to cut this potato in two on the open hand of M. Mazarin with a single stroke of this sword, without leaving the slightest mark on his hand. I do this to prove to you that the magician should possess such skill that he can strike at a vital spot with a deadly weapon and check the stroke within a hair's breadth of where he may desire."
He then took the potato and sliced off a thin piece from one side, returning it to the assistant, who held his hand outstretched with the potato upon it.
Then Merriwell thrust back his cuff and carefully poised the sword, as if gauging the exact force he would put into the stroke. Then he made a savage feint, stopping short of touching the potato. Next time, however, he seemed to strike swift and hard, and the potato was divided in two parts upon the assistant's hand, and, as Merry had predicted, the keen edge of the sword left no mark on the man's flesh.
As this did not seem to impress the audience very much, Frank next proposed to divide a potato placed upon the neck of the assistant.
"You will realize, ladies and gentlemen," he said, "that I could quite as easily strike Monsieur Mazarin's head from his body. In fact, should I fail to check the descent of the sword at exactly the proper instant, I must inflict a fatal wound."
Now there was a rustling in the audience.
"Ach-ew! a-chew!" sneezed an old farmer in the front row. "Gol darn this cold!" he muttered, in a stage whisper. "I hev to sneeze ev'ry time jest at the p'int where he's doin' somethin' I want to see."
This caused a slight titter, and Frank spotted the possessor of the cold.
"I'll attend to your cold later, sir," he said. "Without doubt it is very annoying to you, but I will show you how to make it profitable. Whenever I catch cold, I retire from active life and do my best to cultivate that cold, for I find I can make more money sneezing than in any other way."