“I don’t know none of them foreign languages,” she said. “You’ll have to speak plain English. And my name ain’t Maggie, neither.”
“I didn’t say Maggie—I said magician,” and Joe spoke louder. “I’m looking for Professor Rosello. Him!” he exclaimed, as he saw, hanging on the wall one of the magician’s bills, containing what was supposed to be a likeness of him in evening clothes, with a little red imp whispering secrets in his ear.
“Oh, him! That feller what does tricks? He’s back on the stage,” said the old woman, resuming her scrubbing.
Taking this as an invitation to go back, Joe made his way to the rear of the theatre. There was a single light on the stage, and Joe could see the professor moving about, arranging some of his apparatus in anticipation of the evening’s performance. And Joe heard the magician talking loudly, and as if very much disturbed about something.
“It couldn’t have happened at a much worse time!” exclaimed the professor. “I don’t see what possessed him to run away and leave me just when I needed him. I don’t know what I’m to do. I’ll have to omit some of my best illusions! It’s too bad!”
Joe kept on down the aisle, and, passing through one of the boxes, reached the stage, which was not yet “set” for the performance.
He then saw Professor Rosello talking to a stage-hand, and went over to speak to him.
“Well, what is it?” asked the professor, not recognizing Joe, for the place was dark.
“Don’t you remember me?” our hero questioned. “I’m Joe Strong who——”
“Well met! Say, but I am glad to see you!” cried the magician, heartily. “Perhaps you’re just the very one who can help me out!”