CHAPTER V A FIRE-EATER
The Monday night party was in full swing. A stage had been erected andthe spectacle that was seen as the curtain rose was of “more thanOriental splendour.”
Heavy draperies, potted palms, strange braziers and lanterns, pilloweddivans,—all formed a brilliant and interesting picture of an Easterninterior.
Richly garbed ladies sat at ease while slaves waved peacock feather fansabove their bejeweled heads. Stalwart men stood about, picturesque intheir embroidered tunics and voluminous mantles.
The movement of the scene increased. Slaves entered with baskets offruits, musicians came and made weird music, and dancing girls appearedand gave graceful exhibitions of their art.
Patty was one of these. In a charming costume of thin, fluttering silksand gauzy veils, she went through the slow swaying steps of acharacteristic dance, and enthralled the appreciative audience.
She had indeed achieved her desire to give her guests somethingdifferent from the average evening entertainment. The young men in khakiand in blue, who sat watching, were breathlessly attentive and applaudedloudly and often.
The whole assemblage was gay and merry. The elder Fairfields wereexcellent hosts, and chatted with the uniformed guests until even theshy ones felt at ease. Roger and Mona Farrington, too, assisted in thiswork of getting acquainted, and the result was a pleasant, chattyatmosphere and not merely a silent audience.
“Good work!” said Roger, approvingly, to a khakied youth, as Pattyexecuted a difficult pirouette.
“You bet!” was the earnest reply. “I’ve seen some dancing, but neveranything to beat that! Is she on the regular stage?”
“Oh, no. She’s the daughter of the house. But she’s a born dancer andhas always loved the art.”
“Don’t wonder! She puts it all over anybody I ever saw! And the wholecolouring,—the scene, you know,—well, it’ll be something to rememberwhen I’m back in camp. A thing like that stays in your mind, you know,and I’ll shut my eyes and see those furling pink veils as plain, ’most,as I do now. What a beautiful girl she is.”
His tone was almost reverential, and Roger instinctively liked thesimple straightforwardness of his comment.
“Yes, and as lovely as she is beautiful. She’s engaged to a Captain, andit’s hard luck that he has to be away from her.”
“It’s all of that! Hullo, look who’s here!”
Among the people on the stage there appeared a strange figure. It was aman of swarthy countenance, garbed in pure white draperies, so full andflowing, that he resembled the pictures of the prophets. He walkedslowly to the centre of the stage, and made deep salaams to thecharacters there assembled, then turned and bowed low to the audience.His snow-white, coiled turban almost swept the floor as he gracefullybent in greeting. Then he rose, and began to chant a strange weirdincantation.
An assistant brought a small tripod filled with various paraphernalia,and the juggler began his tricks.
They consisted of the most mystifying legerdemain and magical illusions,for the performer, as Philip had assured Patty, was an expert, thoughnot a professional.
The soldier boys and sailor boys were delighted, and watched closely intheir desire to see how the tricks were done.
And this paved the way to their still greater satisfaction, for theaccommodating magician acceded to several urgent requests and explainedhis tricks.
To be sure, it detracted from the mystery, but it added to the interest.
One of his startling deeds was this.
An attendant brought to the magician a small iron dish filled withkerosene oil. With an eager smile, as of delighted anticipation, thejuggler, who spoke no word, made motions for his aid to light the oil.
This was done, and the flames proved it to be real oil and reallyburning.
Then, taking an iron spoon, the magician dipped out a spoonful of theblazing oil and putting it in his mouth swallowed it with great apparentrelish and enjoyment.
He nodded his head and smacked his lips in praise of this strange food,and made a gesture of wanting more. Obligingly, the attendant offeredhim the iron bowl again, and again a spoonful of blazing kerosene wasgobbled up by the hungry feeder.
“My stars!” cried one of the audience, “I’ve heard of fire-eaters, but Inever expected to see one! Have another dip, old chap!”
Smiling acquiescence, the juggler repeated his startling partaking ofthe oil, and seemed to like it quite as much as ever.
“Well, I’ll give up!” cried the interested observer, who had spokenbefore. “Do tell us how you do that! I’d rather know that than eat asquare meal myself!”
Dropping for the moment his rôle of pantomimist, the juggler said, “Iwill tell you, for it is an interesting trick. For years,—ages, even,the Hindus mystified and deceived people by pretending to befire-eaters. The ignorant on-lookers, of course, believed that thefakirs really ate fire,—hot coals, blazing oil, or burning tow.
“But as a matter of fact, it was all trickery, and deception of thesimplest kind. You must know the ignorant people of the Far East aremuch more gullible and easily deceived than our own alert, up-to-datemodern and civilised citizens. And, yet, even among ourselves, it is noteasy to understand the fire-eating illusion. This is real kerosene, itis really lighted, you have seen my apparent relish of it. Now can anyone explain how it is that I take spoonful after spoonful, yet my mouthis not burnt?”
Nobody could guess, and one after another said so. The young men werelosing their shyness and self-consciousness in their interest.
“Spill it, boss,” urged one, “give us the right dope!”
“Yes, I’d be glad to be informed as to the _modus operandi_,” saidanother, who was of a different mental type. Indeed, it was all sortsand conditions of brains that were striving to see through thisabsorbing problem.
Patty, still in her place on the stage, looked keenly into the upturnedfaces.
“Dear, brave boys!” she thought to herself; “sooner or later, going‘over there’ to fight for us and our cause! I am glad to give them alittle cheer and fun as occasion offers.”
The elder Fairfields felt the same way, and all who were helping Pattyin her plan were conscious of a thrill of gratification at the successof it, so far.
“I’ve seen it on the vaudeville stage in Paris,” one different lookingyouth spoke up. “It was slightly different in effect, but I suppose thesame principle obtained.”
“Doubtless,” agreed the juggler, whose name was Mr. Peckham. “Now, I’llshow you. The whole secret is that when I apparently take up a spoonfulof oil, in reality, I only dip the spoon in and out again. It comes outblazing, to be sure, but really empty. It is merely the slight film ofoil adhering to the spoon that blazes. However, this is quite enough togive the effect of a full spoon of kerosene on fire. Then, as I throwback my head, as if to swallow this flaming fluid, I really blow out theflame and I am careful not even to allow the hot spoon to touch my lips.But the audience, if the trick is quickly done, see what they expect tosee. They are imbued with the idea that I am swallowing a spoonful ofburning kerosene, and they therefore think I do so. It is over in asecond,—I am swallowing, and smacking my lips, and it is taken forgranted that I have done the impossible.”
“Huh!” said the youth who had “wanted to know.”
“Yes,” returned Mr. Peckham, laughing, “it’s ‘Huh!’ after the secret istold! No trick is as wonderful after it is explained as it is before.”
“It is to me,” said a more thoughtful man; “it’s interesting to see howa mere optical illusion is believed to be real by thinking and attentiveminds.”
“Not only that,” added Mr. Peckham, “but it’s strange to realise how oureyes see, or we think they see, what we expect to see. You anticipatedmy fire-eating, you looked forward to seeing it, therefore, you thoughtyou did see it.”
“That’s it, sir! After all, it’s a sort of camouflage.”
“
Exactly! I give you something that looks like fire-eating, and youthink it _is_ fire-eating! Exactly.”
Then he performed many other tricks; tricks with cards or with otherparaphernalia; tricks with balls, swords, hats, all the usual branchesof “magic” and the enthralled audience were so entertained andspellbound, that the time slipped by unheeded.
“Good gracious!” cried Patty suddenly, from her place on the stage,“isn’t it getting late?”
“It’s half-past eleven,” Roger informed her, from the audience.
“Then we must stop this magicking! I’m sorry, for I could watch it allnight, but there’s more programme yet!”
“Cut it out!” cried a youthful chap in sailor blue; “give us morehocus-pocus!”
“Not tonight,” laughed Patty, and leaving her place, the whole tableaubegan to break up and the gorgeously attired Orientals came down amongthe audience and mingled as one group.
“I can’t thank you enough,” Patty said, pausing to speak to Mr. Peckham;“it’s so kind of you, and I’ve been so interested!”
“Oh, it’s nothing,” asserted the kind and genial man, “glad to do it forVan Reypen’s sake, for Our Boys’ sake, and, most of all, Miss Fairfield,for your sake!”
Patty rewarded him with her best smile and ran away to look after therest of her entertainment.
There was to have been music and some other matters, but it was now solate that it was time for the supper.
This was a simple but very satisfying repast and the men in uniformshowed their appreciation of Patty’s thoughtful kindness in this, aswell as in the mental entertainment.
“I say, Miss Fairfield,” a stalwart young man observed, “if you knewwhat all this means to us poor chaps, when we’re miles removed fromchicken salad and ice cream, you’d feel gratified, I’m sure.”
“I do, Mr. Herron; I am truly glad I can please you but more grateful toyou for your appreciation than you can possibly be for my invitation.”
“Well, that’s going some!” and the man laughed. “You see, MissFairfield, it’s like a glimpse of another world to a lot of us. It is tome. Why, I come from out West, and I’ve never been in a home like thisof yours. Oh, I don’t mean to say we don’t have ’em out West,—lots ofour plutes roll in gold and all that. But _I_ didn’t. I’m of theevery-day people, and my folks are good and honest, but plain. Not thatI’m ashamed of ’em,—Lord, no! But I own up I’m pleased as Punch at thischance to be a guest in a fine house for once!”
“I hope not only for once, Mr. Herron,” said Patty, who liked the frankyoung fellow. “I’d like to have you come again.”
“You oughtn’t to invite me,—you ought to take a different lot everytime,—but, by jingo, if you _do_ ask me, I’m coming! You just bet I am!”
Patty laughed and passed on talking gaily to this one and that, askingquestions about things they were interested in and conversant with, andin all, being a charming and sympathetic little hostess.
Entertaining was Patty’s forte, and she loved it. Moreover, she couldadapt herself with equal ease to the most aristocratic and high-bredsociety or to the plainer and more commonplace people.
As for these boys, she loved them, partly because of her patriot spirit,partly from her love of humanity, and largely because now that her ownBillee was in the war, all war people were dear to her.
After supper there was still time for a dance or two, and the guestsentered into this diversion with zest. Naturally, Patty had manywould-be partners, and she divided her dances in an effort to pleasemany.
Helen, too, was a general favourite. The young men liked the jolly girland pretty Bumble laughed and joked with them, promising to writeletters to them and knit comforts for them and to do numberless possibleand impossible things when they were back in their camps, or wherevertheir duty led them.
Chester Wilde was present. He was an urgent suitor of Helen’s, buttonight he tried with all his energies to help Patty in the plan she hadundertaken.
At last, when most of the uniformed guests had departed, Wilde noticingthe tired expression in Patty’s eyes, led her to a cosy sofa and advisedher to rest a little.
“I’ll bring you some hot bouillon,” he said, “and it will do you good.Let the rest of the girls speed the few parting guests, and you sit hereand talk to me.”
Patty agreed and soon they were affably chatting. As often, their talkwas of Helen.
“Doesn’t she look pretty tonight?” young Wilde asked, his eyes strayingto the laughing face across the room.
“Yes, indeed, she always does,” agreed Patty. “She’s a darling thing,too, Mr. Wilde, and you mustn’t be down-hearted because she flouts yousometimes. I know my little old Bumble pretty well and she’s a greatlittle scamp for teasing the people she likes best.”
“It would have been all right, I’m sure,” said the young man, moodily,“if she had stayed in Philadelphia. But here, there are so many menabout,—oh, I don’t mean the uniformed men,—but a lot of others who arehere at your house now and then, that I can’t help feeling Helen willforget me.”
“Nonsense! I won’t let her. You trust your Aunt Patty! Why my middlename is Tact!”
“I know it, Miss Fairfield, I know all that, and you’re awfully good tome, but,—oh, well, I s’pose I’m jealous.”
“I s’pose you are,” Patty laughed at him. “You wouldn’t be any good ifyou weren’t! But you know, faint heart and all that. Don’t befaint-hearted, that’s not the thing for a soldier, at all!”
“All right, I’ll cheer up. You’re a good friend, Miss Fairfield——”
“Oh, call me Patty, I’d rather you would.”
“All right and thank you. First names for us, after this. Now don’tthink me silly, but,—won’t you do all you can to—to——”
“To turn our Helen’s heart in your direction? Indeed I will, Chester,and gladly. But, take my word for it, she likes you better than anybodyelse, right now.”
“Oh, Patty, do you think so?”
“I know so. Bumble,—Helen, I mean, is a dear, but she isn’t quite sureof her own mind. Oh, don’t you worry, Chester, my friend, all will yetbe well.”
“But look at her now. She’s terribly taken with that chap named Herron.See her look at him!”
“The green-eyed monster has you in his grip, for sure! Come on, let’s goand see what they’re talking about.”
Patty rose and Chester followed her to where Helen and Philip Van Reypenwere eagerly talking to Mr. Herron.
“Yes,” Herron was saying, “to train a thousand aviators usually meansthe smashing of more than a thousand machines. Why, every learner breaksup one or two airplanes before he’s a flyer.”
“Really!” said Helen, her eyes big with interest. “And how much do theseairplanes cost?”
“Oh, about seven thousand dollars apiece.”
“They do! What a fearful expense for the government!”
“The government does have fearful expenses, Miss Barlow,—or so I’veheard.”
“But that’s something awful, old man,” put in Van Reypen. “I’m going tobe a flyer, and I’ll begin training soon. That’s why I’m so keen onquestioning you. Do I go up in the air at once?”
“No, sir. You begin on a machine that stays on _terra firma_.”
“Then it isn’t a flying machine at all,” observed Patty, as she andChester joined the others.
“Well, it is, except that it doesn’t fly! But one learns all the motionson it, and the controls and the handling of winds,—and, oh, quite a fewthings about it. Then later on, one goes up——”
“What a sensation it must be!” cried Patty; “I’m just crazy to try it.May I go up with you, Phil, as soon as you’ve learned?”
“Not until I _have_ learned. You’ll take no chances with a novice, I cantell you.”
“But I don’t see,” said Helen, “how a machine on the ground is anythinglike one in the air.”
“It’s difficult to explain,” returned Herron. “But, you see,
jets of airare blown through tubes, that simulate the currents of real air thataffect the man higher up.”
“Too many for me!” declared Helen, “my little two-cent brain refuses tograsp it!”
“We’ll go down to see Philip perform as soon as he knows enough to showoff,” declared Patty. “Won’t that be fun, Helen?”
“Yes; may we, Philip?”
“After I’m ready to show off, yes.”
“Oh, you vainy!” cried Helen. “Never mind, we don’t want to see you whenyou’re just flying on the floor!”
“I really must fly from here,” laughed Mr. Herron. “Such a gorgeoustime, Miss Fairfield. May I come again?”
“Oh, I wish you would! Don’t wait for a special invitation,—come at anytime.”
“He will,” Van Reypen said, “I’ll bring him. He and I will beassociated, I find, in the Aviation Training Camp, and we’ll often runup together,—mayn’t we, Patty?”
“Yes, indeed; as often as you can manage to!”