The burst of laughter which greeted this was renewed when the tiny animal began making playful passes at a spool on a string which the dignified professor held before it, remarking, “See? Ze magic pass.
“Now Tom ze Terrible will answer ze question, and show he onderstan’ ze Ingleesh,” the magician announced, at the same time swinging the spool out of the kitten’s sight.
“Tom, how old you are?”
The spool was swung back, the kitten began again hitting at it, solemnly the professor counted to twenty, and whisked the spool away. “Twenty year. Correc’.
“You see, ladees and gentlemans, ze venerable cat he cannot make mistake,” he observed amid laughing applause.
“Now Tom, tell some odder ting. How old is ze chairman?” indicating the dignified elderly man at the farther end of the platform. “Five? Correc’.
“You see, he always is right, yes.
“Now, Tom, how old is ze Rev. Mr. Borden?... Seven? Correc’ again.”
When the laughter which followed this “demonstration” had subsided the professor took up a new line. Earlier in the evening a certain John Peters, one of the town’s foppish young gallants, and who now occupied a prominent front seat, had widely announced the fact that he was present for the express purpose of “showing the mind-reader up.” At him accordingly the first quip was directed.
“Now Tom, tell ze audience, how many girl have Mr. John Wilberforce Peters?” was asked. “What? None?” For, the spool being held out of sight, the kitten gazed before it stolidly, without raising a foot. “Well, how many does he think he have?”