Solemnly, slowly, I moved round the circle. With drawn brows and narrowed eyes I placed my fingers lightly on the temples of my father, mother, uncle, and friends in succession, and then I reached Jane. She set her teeth just as I had shown her, and I felt the muscles at her temples work steadily. Having counted ten vibrations, I went on stolidly to the other heads until the circle was completed. Then, standing before them, I wiped the imaginary sweat of fatigue from my brow. The torment looked radiant.
“You don’t know it? There—I said so, Tom, you goose.”
“Madam,” I returned with a bow, “the digit fixed upon was ten!”
Tableau vivant! The complete confusion of the torment, the most guileless “bravo” from Jane, and my uncle’s audible whisper to my proud parents.
“The boy’s a positive genius!”
“And he looks quite white and tired,” quoth mamma.
Result—the promise of a ripping new bicycle from grandpa as a reward for my merit.
I owed a lot to Jane, who remained my faithful unsuspected confederate in many other tricks, which gained me a reputation of being something of an extraordinary phenomenon and possessed of embryo genius. It was delightful to enjoy the giddy pinnacle of fame to which my female relations raised me.
Another trick that caused much sensation was the following, and, for any youth who wishes to follow in the footsteps of the great (which I think some old poet chap—who had never studied the art of bunkum—remarked are written “on the sands of Time,”) I will state clearly the manner in which it was done.
Place three corks on the table, and tell your wondering home circle that, while you withdraw, they may touch one of them, and you will tell them which cork they touched. Your confederate must classify them as top, middle, and bottom.