In the second variation the cornucopia into which the handkerchiefs are passed is made by pasting together two sheets of paper at all four sides. Between these papers are hidden the duplicate handkerchiefs. Instead of opening this cornucopia at the conclusion of the trick, the performer merely tears it in two and pulls out the handkerchiefs. As I have known a performer of long experience to be puzzled by this trick, I can conscientiously recommend it. It has the advantage, too, of doing away with the glass box, which, when properly made, costs four or five dollars.
Guibal generally follows the trick just described with "The Transit of the Cards." In this he is assisted by two of the audience, one of whom he dubs "the glass box," and the other "the paper horn," claiming that the trick, though done with cards instead of handkerchiefs, is virtually the same as the preceding one.
To one of these assistants, who must not be confounded with confederates, he hands a pack of cards to be counted aloud. This operation concluded, he asks: "How many cards did you say there are—thirty-two? I knew it, but I want my audience to know it too."
He gathers up the cards, and as he takes them in his hands he passes the little finger of his left hand between the five top ones and the rest of the pack.
"Now, sir," addressing the glass box, that is the assistant on his right, "be good enough to empty the outer breast pocket of your coat. Good. Cut this pack."
As he says this he palms the five top cards, and lays the rest of the pack on the table, which is between him and the audience.
When the pack is cut, the performer requests the assistant to put the cut in his breast pocket, to cover the pocket with his hand, and on no account to remove it.
Pointing to the remainder of the pack lying on the table, he requests the paper horn, the assistant on his left, to count it. Let us suppose there proves to be nineteen cards. "Good," he exclaims. "You, sir, will please put these in your pocket." At these words he bunches the cards together with the right hand, adding the five palmed ones.
When the paper horn has emptied his pocket, and placed the cards therein, the performer continues: "You, the paper horn, have nineteen cards, and you, the glass box, necessarily have thirteen, since the sum of nineteen and thirteen equals thirty-two. Now, gentlemen, keep your hands on your pockets, and see that not a card enters or leaves without your knowing it."
"Will you, madam," addressing a lady, "select one of the three mystic numbers, 4, 5, or 6?"