“Now you’ll get your explanation all right.”
“I am, as perhaps you know, a sleight-of-hand performer; a magician, as we are sometimes called. I gave an exhibition in your town last night.”
“I was there, and liked it first rate!” broke in Tom. “And Joe here—he showed us——”
Tom stopped suddenly, for Joe administered an unseen, but none the less swift, warning kick, under cover of a table.
“I am glad you liked my little entertainment,” the professor went on, not appearing to notice the little side-play between Joe and his chum, if, indeed, he saw it. “As I was saying, I am a modern magician. As you young gentlemen probably know, we are always on the lookout for new tricks, new effects, illusions and so on. Perhaps I need not tell you that there is really no so-called Black Art—nothing really supernatural in my work, or in that of my fellow artists. We can not overcome nature, we merely adapt her to our needs. The old truth of the hand being quicker than the eye still holds good. In fact it is very easy to deceive the eye, as you doubtless noticed at my little entertainment. You see——”
The professor pulled a red handkerchief from his pocket, flourished it in the air, stuffed it into his clenched fist. Pulled out one end to disclose a blue flag. Then, with a rapid motion, he stuffed it back into his clenched fist again, to bring it out pure white, and a moment later, rolling it up into a ball, he smoothed it out to disclose a miniature United States flag.
This he held out to Tom, who, when he took it, found that he was grasping a lemon.
“Why—what—how did you——?” he stammered.
“Merely demonstrating that the hand is quicker than the eye,” said the professor, smiling.
“Joe can do——” began Tom, when he was again stopped by a swift kick under the table.