Facing the World

“It will be some time before you look old enough for a magician. When you are, I’ll give you my blessing and send you out.”

Meanwhile they had been jogging along, and were already in the main street of Conway. The professor drew up in front of the village hotel, and a groom came forward and took his horse.

“Wait a minute my friend,” said the professor. “Harry, you can help me take my implements out of the back of the wagon.”

These “implements” were of a heterogeneous character, but all would come in use in the evening. A number of boys watched their transfer with mingled awe and curiosity.

“What’s them?” Harry heard one ask another, in a half-whispered tone.

“Those,” said the professor, in an impressive tone, turning toward the boys. “Those are paraphernalia!”

The boys looked more awestruck than ever. All inwardly resolved to go to the Town Hall that evening, and get a nearer view of the articles which had such a grand name.

After a while Harry came downstairs from the room assigned him, and stood on the piazza.

One of the boys drew near him cautiously.

“Are you the magician’s son?” he asked.

“No,” answered Harry, smiling.

“Do you come from Madagascar?”

“I have not been there recently.”

“Are all the people there magicians?”

“Not quite all.”

This information was rather scanty, but it was whispered about among the boys, the first boy boasting that he had a talk with the young man magician. If Harry had heard himself called thus, he would have been very much amused.

Directly after supper Harry went with his employer to assist in preparing the stage for the evening performance. Though novice, he acquitted himself to the satisfaction of his employer, who congratulated himself on having secured so efficient an assistant. Half an hour before the performance he stationed himself in the entry, provided with tickets. He sat at a small table, and received the crowd. Though new to the business, he managed to make change rapidly. He found his position one in which he had a chance to study human nature.

During the evening Harry was called upon to assist the professor in some of his tricks. Some boys would have been embarrassed upon finding themselves objects of general attention, but Harry was by temperament cool and self-possessed. He had been fond of declamation at school, and this had accustomed him, to some extent, to a public appearance.

The entertainment was in two parts, with an intermission of ten minutes.

“I wish you were a singer,” said the professor, when they were standing behind the screen.

“Why?” asked Harry.

“Because the audience sometimes gets impatient during the intermission. If I could put you on for a song, it would help quiet them.”

“I can sing a little,” said Harry, modestly.

“What can you sing?”

“How would ‘The Last Rose of Summer’ do?”

“Capital. Can you sing it?”

“I can try.”

“You are sure you won’t break down? That would make a bad impression.”

“I can promise you I won’t break down, sir.”

“Then I’ll give you a trial. Are you ready to appear at once?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Wait, then, till I announce you.”

The professor came from behind the screen, and, addressing the audience, said: “Ladies and gentlemen, lest you should find the necessary intermission tedious, I am happy to announce to you that the young vocalist, Master Harry Vane, has kindly consented to favor you with one of his popular melodies. He has selected by request, ‘The Last Rose of Summer.’”

Harry could hardly refrain from laughing when he heard this introduction.

“One would think I was a well-known singer,” he said to himself.

He came forward, and, standing before the audience, with his face a little flushed, made a graceful bow. Then, pausing an instant, he commenced the song announced. He had not sung two lines before the professor, who waited the result with some curiosity and some anxiety, found that he could sing. His voice was high, clear, and musical, and his rendition was absolutely correct. The fact was, Harry had taken lessons in a singing school at home, and had practiced privately also, so that he had reason to feel confidence in himself.

The song was listened to with earnest attention and evident enjoyment by all. When the last strain died away, and Harry made his farewell bow, there was an enthusiastic burst of applause, emphasized by the clapping of hands and the stamping of feet.

“You did yourself proud, my boy!” said the gratified Professor. “They want you on again.”

This seemed evident from the noise.

“Can’t you sing something else?”

“Very well, sir.”

Harry was certainly pleased with this evidence of popular favor. He had never before sung a solo before an audience, and, although he had felt that he could, he was glad to find that he had not overestimated his powers.

Once more he stood before the audience.

“I thank you for your kindness,” he said. “I will now sing you a comic song.”

He sang a song very popular at that time, the words and air of which were familiar to all. While it did not afford him so good a chance to show his musical capacity, it was received with much greater favor than the first song.

There was a perfect whirlwind of applause, and a third song was called for.

“I would rather not sing again, professor,” said Harry.

“You needn’t. They would keep you singing all the evening if you would allow it. Better leave off when they are unsatisfied.”

“Ladies and gentlemen,” he said, “Master Vane thanks you for your kind applause, but he makes it an unvarying rule never to sing but two songs in an evening. He never broke that rule but once, and that was at the special request of the governor-general of Canada. I shall now have the pleasure of performing for your amusement, one of my most popular experiments.”

“Well, you have pleased the people, and that is the main point. By Jove! my boy, you’ve got a lovely voice.”