demanded Mrs. Jallatt by way of diversion. “The professional conjurer whom I had engaged has failed me at the last moment. Can any of you recite?”
There were symptoms of a general panic. Dolores was known to recite “Locksley Hall” on the least provocation. There had been occasions when her opening line, “Comrades, leave me here a little,” had been taken as a literal injunction by a large section of her hearers. There was a murmur of relief when Rollo hastily declared that he could do a few conjuring tricks. He had never done one in his life, but those two visits to the library had goaded him to unusual recklessness.
“You’ve seen conjuring chaps take coins and cards out of people,” he announced; “well, I’m going to take more interesting things out of some of you. Mice, for instance.”
“Not mice!”
A shrill protest rose, as he had foreseen, from the majority of his audience.
“Well, fruit, them.”
The amended proposal was received with approval. Agnes positively beamed.
Without more ado Rollo made straight
for his trio of enemies, plunged his hand successively into their breast-pockets, and produced three peaches. There was no applause, but no amount of hand-clapping would have given the performer as much pleasure as the silence which greeted his coup.
“Of course, we were in the know,” said the Wrotsley cousin lamely.