"Let's have his inaugural address," petitioned Edgington.
"Give him this," said Alvord, offering a coin, "and make him think it's hot. People in this neighborhood would go farther to see Brassfield drop a piece of money, than to interview a live dinosaur!"
The laughter at this sally was lost on Madame le Claire. She was looking down on the unconscious Amidon, and wondering how any one could think of making him the instrument of buffoonery.
"I will perform only one simple, yet very difficult, lest," said she. "This gentleman will soon wake as Mr. Brassfield, and will be his old and usual self among you until a certain hour, which I will write on this card, and seal up in this envelope, so that no one will know, and inform Mr. Brassfield by suggestion. When that particular moment arrives, wherever he may be, whatever he may be doing, he will enter the cataleptic state. The test is regarded as a severe and perfect one. The card will remain in the possession of Major Pumphrey until it succeeds or fails, and the envelope will then be opened."
Kneeling on the dais, she seemed whispering in the subject's ear. Then, tapping his wrist, she said, decisively, "Wake!"
It was Eugene Brassfield who opened his eyes on a circle of his friends, associates and cronies. He rose lightly and confidently, and laughed at the chaffing of his friends. He bowed to Madame le Claire, and moved across the room to Elizabeth's side, with an air of incipient proprietorship.
"No true lover of carnations," he confided to her, "could wish you to wear them as you do to-night."
"Really? I suppose I ought to ask why?"
"It isn't fair to the flowers," said he. "Flowers have rights, you know, and to be outdone in sweetness—— Ah, Jim! Go away, and don't bother me! Don't you see I'm very busy?"
"Old man," said Alvord, answering to the name of "Jim," "it's good to see you as you are to-night—your old self. You'll make a hit, my boy. This will make it more than ever a cinch!"