Ora, attired in a robe which covered her from neck to ankles, came forward and bowed. There was polite applause. She slipped off the robe and stood before the audience, garbed in black and white; a low-cut black blouse with white trimmings, a very short black skirt, a small white lace apron, and high black stockings.
The applause hesitated for a moment, then burst out anew. When the applause had subsided, Lester Leith said, “I’m going to ask your indulgence, ladies and gentlemen. Despite the comments of the purser, I feel that my performance may fall far short of his glowing description. However, I will do my best.”
The purser said, “What’s the idea of the apology? You told me this afternoon you were the best in the west.”
There was a roar of laughter.
Leith said, “A man always exaggerates his qualifications to get the job. No hard feelings.”
He advanced and shook hands with the purser. Suddenly he said, “Wait a minute. You don’t want this,” and took an egg from the purser’s side coat pocket. “And what’s this? Tut, tut. You shouldn’t be carrying a black widow spider around on your sleeve!”
With a startled exclamation the purser jumped back and brushed at his arm. The spider dropped to the floor and lay with its rubber legs quivering.
Leith said, “Tut, tut. Having killed my pet, you should at least give him a decent burial. Here, take this little casket. Put him in that.”
He handed the purser a small box. The purser bent forward, and Leith signaled to Ora Sanders, who handed him a loaded slapstick.
Just as the purser picked up the spider, the slapstick connected with that portion of his trousers which stretched tight in the stooping process. The impact set off the blank cartridge which had been imbedded in the slapstick, and the purser’s reactions were all that the gleeful audience could have anticipated.
When the discomfited purser had retired, Leith nodded to Ora Sanders. She brought forward a table, and, opening a box, took out a goldfish bowl, in which the audience could plainly see goldfish swimming around.
Leith looked around the audience, then singled out Silman Shore. “Mr. Shore,” he called.
“What is it?”
“You’re an expert hunter, I believe?”
“Yes.”
“Can you describe to the audience what you see in this bowl?”
“Goldfish,” Shore said.
Leith said, “Tut, tut. You need to have your eyes examined.” He reached in the goldfish bowl and pulled out a live, kicking rabbit, and, thereafter, while the audience applauded, he took out object after object from the bowl which apparently contained only live goldfish swimming about in water.
“Thank you, Mr. Shore,” Leith said, “for your cooperation. After all, you know, it adds to our amusement when we see our fellow travelers taking part. Mr. Shogiro, might I ask you to step forward please.”
“It is pleasure,” Shogiro said.
Leith said, “I noticed that you seemed rather hungry in the dining room tonight. Apparently, you’re a man with a large appetite... Ah, yes, I thought so. Turn around please.”
Shogiro turned around, and Lester Leith reached down the back of his coat to pull out a bunch of celery which he held up to the audience, then tossed to Ora Sanders.
“Now wait a minute,” he said as Shogiro, smiling politely, started back toward his seat. “What’s that you have in your pocket?”
Shogiro followed the direction of Leith’s eyes, and said, “Excusse pleasse. That is handkerchief for wiping eyes which have tears of laughter caused by amusement at honorable act.”
There was just a trace of sarcasm in what he said, although his manner was that of smiling politeness. The audience applauded, and waited for Leith’s comeback.
Leith reached out to take the corner of the silk handkerchief in his thumb and forefinger. He started pulling it out an inch or two at a time. “Very nice handkerchief,” he said, “but what is this?”
Shogiro, smiling broadly, watched Lester Leith pull out yards and yards of silk ribbon and handkerchiefs. When he had finished he tossed the ball of silk to Ora Sanders.
Shogiro, standing very still, said, “Honorable gentleman have removed everything from pocket?”
“I certainly hope so,” Leith said.
“Are sure is not more?” Shogiro asked.
The audience, sensing that the Japanese was trying to turn the tables on Leith, leaned forward in their seats.
“Well,” Leith said, “if there’s anything left in that pocket, Mr. Shogiro, you may keep it.”
The audience laughed at the sally, but the laughter changed into roars as Shogiro, reaching into the pocket, pulled out what apparently was a human finger. He held it up and bent it double, showing that it was made of colored rubber. He inserted it between the fingers of his own hand, moved his hand rapidly, and the finger had vanished.
“Excusse pleasse,” Shogiro said, “but in my country when honorable gentleman perform trick with false finger, unwinding yards of silk ribbon stored therein, is always customary to remove empty finger after trick is completed.”
Shogiro turned and started toward the front row once more, but Leith again called him back. This time there was an ominous glitter in the eyes of the Japanese, although his lips continued to frame a polite smile.
“Anyone who turns the tables on me that well,” Leith said, “is entitled to a reward. Now let me see. What can I give you?... I guess food would be the best. How about it, Miss Sanders? Can we cook up a little food for Mr. Shogiro?”
“Oh, I think so,” she said.
Leith said, “Well, we might at least fry him an egg.”
“We haven’t any more eggs,” Miss Sanders said.
“That’s too bad,” Leith said, “but... what’s this?... Oh, yes, our friend, Shogiro, seems to have something else up his sleeve.”
Leith picked up Shogiro’s forearm, held his coat by the cuff, and shook it gently. Two eggs rolled out.
Leith, juggling the eggs in his hand, said, “That’s fine. Now if we had a frying pan. Has anyone in the audience a frying pan?”
In the silence which followed, one of the stewards, who had been coached in the part, called out, “Why don’t you look in the fishbowl?”
“An excellent idea,” Leith said.
He walked over to the fishbowl, still holding the eggs, reached down, apparently plunging his hand into the water, and brought out a frying pan without in any way disturbing the fish.
“Now,” he said, “we’re ready. If you’ll hold a match for us, Miss Sanders...”
He broke both eggs into the frying pan, tossed the shells to one side, held the frying pan over a match which Ora Sanders lighted, shook the pan, and then approached the Japanese. “Here you are,” he said.
Sergeant Ackley, in the back row, said to Beaver, “Watch him like a hawk, Beaver. He’s getting ready to pull something. He’s worked the buildup. Now, he’s after blood.”
Lester Leith, with the frying pan held rather high so that the Japanese could not see its interior, said, “A plate, please, Miss Sanders.”
Ora Sanders picked up a plate from a table, started toward Leith, and stumbled. The plate slipped from her hands, fell to the floor, and broke into two pieces.
For a moment there was a gasp from the audience, but it was quickly apparent that Ora Sanders’s fall had been far too gracefully done to be accidental. She got to her feet, smiled, then stared ruefully at a run in her stocking.
With the quick instinct which is the natural reaction of a woman, she lifted her abbreviated skirt to see how far up the run had gone, then suddenly, as though realizing her position, laughed and dropped the skirt back into place.
Lester Leith said, “That’s too bad. Just pick up the fragments of the plate, Miss Sanders, and I’ll see what I can do with them.”