And to the amazement--the indescribable,
unparalleled amazement--of all present, Mr. Kelson knit his brows, as
if engaged in intense thought, and, jumping off his feet, remained in
the air, at a height of some four feet from the floor. At his request members of the audience came up to him, and passed
their hands under, over and all around him, to make sure there were no
wires. He then struck out with his hands and legs after the manner of
a swimmer, and moving first of all round the stage, and then over the
stalls and pit, gradually ascended higher and higher, till he reached
the level of the boxes, to the occupants of which he spoke. Such an extraordinary spectacle--which apparently gives the lie to all
our preconceived notions of gravity--has certainly never before been
witnessed, and the effect it had on those who saw it, baffles
description. When Mr. Kelson returned to the stage, and the terrific
applause that greeted his arrival there had subsided, he gave the
audience a few valuable hints as to how they, too, might accomplish
this feat. "Practise concentration," he said, "and develop your will power, if
only by a very little, every day. Jump off a stool to begin with,
saying to yourself as you do so: 'I will remain in the air. I won't
touch the ground,'--and though you may fail for the hundredth time, if
only you keep on trying you will eventually succeed. To keep your
equilibrium on a bicycle is a feat which would have been pronounced
utterly impossible by your ancestors of two hundred years ago; but
just as that power came to you--after many futile efforts, all at
once--so, in the end, will flying come to you. See, I am now going to
rise to the highest point in the building. Gravity pulls me back, but
I say to myself: 'I will rise--I will fly there'--and fly there I
do!" --and, springing off the ground, he struck out with his arms and
legs, flew swiftly and easily to the dome of the hall, which he
touched--and then flew back again to the stage. This completed the evening's entertainment. If only on the strength of
its first performance, the Modern Sorcery Company, in our opinion, has
more than justified its name; and although we understand they will
give no more performances gratis, we feel confident in prophesying
that, for many a long night, there will be no falling off in the
attendance. CHAPTER XIV

SHIEL TO THE RESCUE


Gladys did not feel too happy when she read notices such as these; she
could not do other than see in them destruction to her father, and the
worst of it all was she could do nothing to help him. Who could? Who
could possibly invent anything as wonderful as the marvels of the
Modern Sorcery Company Ltd.? And yet unless John Martin gave up
altogether, that is what he must do. Nay, he must do more--he must not
only equal the Modern Sorcery Company's marvels, he must eclipse them. But after the affair of the challenge, it seemed to Gladys that there
was no help for it--the Hall would have to be closed for a time. Now
that Dick Davenport was dead, there was no one to take her father's
place. On the night succeeding the catastrophe, she had persuaded one
of the Indian attendants to undertake the rôle of operator, but his
skill was not equal to the tax upon it, and the audience--a poor
one--was very lukewarm in its applause. The following day she talked
the matter over with her father. The latter was in favour of keeping
the show on at any cost; Gladys, for closing it temporarily. "A bad performance is worse than no performance," she said, "much
better to close till you have invented some new tricks." John Martin groaned. "I fear my days of invention are over," he
muttered. "If I can read the papers and write letters, that will be
about as much as I shall be able to do." "Couldn't you retire?" "I would if I were not a Britisher," John Martin replied, "but being a
Britisher I'd sooner shoot myself than give in to a d----d Yank!" And Gladys, in terror lest her father should over-excite himself,
promised she would see that the entertainment was carried on as usual,
and that the Indian continued in the rôle of operator. But when out of her father's presence, Gladys gave way to despair. How
could she--a woman--hope to cope with such a difficult situation? And
she was racking her brains to know how to act for the best, when Shiel
was announced. A wave of relief swept over her. She could explain her difficulties to
Shiel, in a way that she could not to any one who had no knowledge at
all of her father's affairs--and she told him just how matters stood. "Look here!" he exclaimed, when she had finished, "why not let me take
your father's place at the Kingsway? I have done a little amateur
acting, and am not nervous at the thought of appearing in public. Your
father confided in you so much--you must know all his tricks by
heart--couldn't you coach me!" Gladys looked at him critically. "It wouldn't be half a bad idea," she said. "Supposing you come with
me to the Hall, I can explain the tricks better if I show you the
apparatus at the same time." Shiel thoroughly enjoyed that journey up to town. He knew it was wrong
of him to think of his own pleasure, when the affairs of his companion
were in such a critical condition. He knew he ought not to look at her
in the way he did--as if she was the most precious thing in the world,
and he would give her his soul if she wanted it--he knew that he--a
penniless artist without any prospects--had no right to behave thus. But her beauty appealed to him with a force he was entirely incapable
of resisting, and he went on looking at her in the way he knew he
ought not to look at her, simply because he couldn't help it. He lunched with her at her club in Dover Street, and then they taxied
to the Kingsway. The door-keeper, the only living creature in the building, saving
themselves, seemed to share in the general depression hanging over
everything--the great, empty front of the house with its gloomy,
cavernous boxes and grim, grey gallery--the dark, dismal flies--the
chilly wings--all hushed and still, and impregnated with the sense of
desertion. But with this man beside her, who, she knew, would do
anything he could to help, the place did not look quite so bad to
Gladys as it had done the day before. There was a ray of light now
where, before, ebon blackness had prevailed. Without delay Gladys rang up the Indian attendants on the telephone,
and occupied the time prior to their arrival by describing to Shiel
how each of the tricks was done. Her pupil proved far more able than she had anticipated. After several
rehearsals he was able to go through the whole performance without a
hitch. When they had finished, Gladys stretched out her hand impulsively. "I
don't know how to thank you enough," she said. "You are a brick, and
if only you do half as well this evening as you have done now, we
shall get on swimmingly--that is to say, as well as we can expect,
until we can arrange a fresh programme. If only you were an inventor!"