CHAPTER XV
MEADOWCROFT was saying to himself that he wouldn’t have believed Rose Harrow had it in her to do what she must have done, when Herbie came in with lights and he forgot everything else as he stared at Tommy.
The lad’s hair, of various shades of brown blending into what is called “sandy,” which usually hung in long, ragged, untidy but picturesque locks about his eyes, had been burned off in front straight across his brow, giving his head the appearance of that of a young calf. From the proprietary reproach of his tone, Meadowcroft might have been the boy’s father.
“Tommy Finnemore, what in the name of common sense have you done to your hair?” he demanded. “And now, of all times, when you’re going into a new school and ought to look your best.”
Tommy grinned. “I just bunted out a little fire,” he explained. “It was only alcohol, though, nothing to speak of. You see I had my mother’s piano cover with silk dadoes all round the edge. The trick called for felt and I couldn’t find another bit though I hunted all through all the drawers in the house. So mother being away for the afternoon, I took that. I was awfully careful but the first I knew it was all blue flame. Gee, but I was scared stiff, for dad would ’a given me the very dickens if I’d burned a hole in that. You see I had asked to use it before, and mother went right up in the air. I remembered about smothering fires with rugs, but there wasn’t one round; and just then my hair was hanging in my eyes like fringes and it seemed about like a rug and handier. It did the business, but dad was almost as fierce as if I had burned the piano cover, though not quite, or I wouldn’t be here. And mother said ‘Thomas, I wish you would forbid that boy doing any more magic for a year. The next thing you know he’ll be blind too.’”
Tommy sighed. “I don’t know why he didn’t, I’m sure. He said he’d a good mind not to let me do any more till my hair grew out, which would ’a been the same thing. That made me feel queer and when he passed me my plate I said I guessed I didn’t want any supper. I started to leave the table and he says ‘Mind you, Tom, no magic for two weeks.’ And then I shoved up my chair again and said I guessed if I ate slow I could eat a little.”
Meadowcroft smiled. “Your parents have my sympathy, Tommy,” he observed. “However, there’s a good piece of felt that was left over when they re-covered the billiard tables on the top floor and an old carriage rug that I’ll give you if you will solemnly promise never to try to put out a fire in that manner again or in any way that might cause personal injury to yourself.”
“Bargain,” said Tommy laconically.
“And do be more careful, pray. A magician should be skilful not clumsy in the use of his materials, you know. You have long, supple fingers that are capable of doing very delicate work if you train them.”
Tommy looked at his stained, spotted fingers curiously.