The “mind-reading” number on the program was at length reached. The chairman arose.
“I am very sorry to say, ladies and gentlemen,” he announced, “that Prof. Robison, who is next on the program, was unexpectedly not able to keep his engagement. However, in his place we have secured the services of Prof. Mahmoud Click, of Constantinople; astrologer, phrenologist, mind-reader, and general all-round seer; and I am sure you will find him no less instructive and entertaining.”
Despite this assurance, in the silence which followed there was a distinct note of disappointment, even displeasure. For it was obvious that the flowery title of the substitute concealed some local amateur.
Disappointment, however, quickly gave place to a flutter of interest when the rear door opened, and preceded by Jack Orr, there swept down the aisle a tall, venerable figure in flowing robes; white-bearded, spectacled, and crowned with a tall conical hat bearing strange hieroglyphics.
When, on Jack stepping aside and taking an unobtrusive front seat, the aged professor mounted the platform and solemnly surveyed his audience, titters, then a burst of laughter swept over the school-room. The long yellow robe was covered with grotesque caricatures of cats, frogs, dogs, cranes and turtles, interspersed with great black question-marks.
The famed Oriental turned about toward a table, and the laughing broke out afresh. In the center of his back was a large cat’s-head, with wonderfully squinting eyes. When the cat slowly closed one distorted optic in a wink, then smiled, there was an unrestrained shout of merriment, and those who were not excitedly inquiring of one another the identity of the “seer,” settled back in their seats expectantly.
Placing the table at the front of the platform, the professor again faced the audience, and with dignified air, and deep, tragic voice, addressed them.
“Ladees and gentlemans. Ze chairman have spoke. I am Mahmoud Click, ze great seer, ze great mind-read, ze great bump-read, ze great profess. (Laughter.) I am ze seventeen son, of ze seventeen son, of ze seventeen son.
“An’ also have I bring for do ze magic pass,” thrusting a hand within his robe, “Tom ze Terrible, ze son of Tom, ze son of Tom.”
The hand reappeared, and placed on the table a tiny black kitten.