Everybody laughed, but Pandoo pretended to be very angry.
“My maxim is,” he said, “always to make sure, and so de next time I shall use a Maxim gun.”
“Now, British ladies, gemlem, and child’en,” he added, “I show you how dis is done. De unroping is nothing. And at de slightest touch the blade of de dagger sinks back into the hilt. Master Barclay, show it round.”
Barclay was delighted to do so, after pretending to stab Davie Drake through the heart with it.
. . . . . .
Pandoo’s next trick appeared miraculous. I have often seen myself tricks like it in India, but never could understand them. Nor would the jugglers explain.
A larger basket was procured and turned upside down on the stage.
“Will any little girl come under de basket?”
“Oh,” cried Barclay, “Phœbe won’t be afraid, I’m sure.”
Phœbe loved Pandoo, and could trust him thoroughly, so she appeared shyly on the stage with her left forefinger between her rosy lips.