This was done, and the flames proved it to be real oil and really burning.
Then, taking an iron spoon, the magician dipped out a spoonful of the blazing oil and putting it in his mouth swallowed it with great apparent relish and enjoyment.
He nodded his head and smacked his lips in praise of this strange food, and made a gesture of wanting more. Obligingly, the attendant offered him the iron bowl again, and again a spoonful of blazing kerosene was gobbled up by the hungry feeder.
“My stars!” cried one of the audience, “I’ve heard of fire-eaters, but I never expected to see one! Have another dip, old chap!”
Smiling acquiescence, the juggler repeated his startling partaking of the oil, and seemed to like it quite as much as ever.
“Well, I’ll give up!” cried the interested observer, who had spoken before. “Do tell us how you do that! I’d rather know that than eat a square meal myself!”
Dropping for the moment his rôle of pantomimist, the juggler said, “I will tell you, for it is an interesting trick. For years,—ages, even, the Hindus mystified and deceived people by pretending to be fire-eaters. The ignorant on-lookers, of course, believed that the fakirs really ate fire,—hot coals, blazing oil, or burning tow.
“But as a matter of fact, it was all trickery, and deception of the simplest kind. You must know the ignorant people of the Far East are much more gullible and easily deceived than our own alert, up-to-date modern and civilised citizens. And, yet, even among ourselves, it is not easy to understand the fire-eating illusion. This is real kerosene, it is really lighted, you have seen my apparent relish of it. Now can any one explain how it is that I take spoonful after spoonful, yet my mouth is not burnt?”
Nobody could guess, and one after another said so. The young men were losing their shyness and self-consciousness in their interest.
“Spill it, boss,” urged one, “give us the right dope!”