At the commencement of the second part of the programme—the audience was still too flabbergasted to fully grasp what was happening. They saw on the stage a huge tank of water—with which they were told Mr. Curtis would experiment.
“What I am about to do,” Mr. Curtis—who now walked on to the stage—informed his audience, “is quite simple. All you want is faith. Those of you who are Christian Scientists should be able to do it as easily as I. Say ‘I will! I will walk on the water!’ and your faith—your colossal faith—faith in your ability to do it will actually enable you to do it.”
Curtis then repeated—in tones that could not be heard by the audience—the Atlantean cabalistic words—“Karma—nardka—rapto— nooman—K—arma—oola—piskooskte,” and glided gracefully on to the surface of the water. Every now and then he sank slowly down to the bottom, where he strolled about, or sat, or lay down.
The audience was simply fascinated. Nothing they had hitherto seen tickled their fancy half as much. As an American, who was present, put it—“To live under the water like a fish is immense—so hygienic and economical.”
Though the time apportioned to this part of the entertainment was half an hour, it was extended to over an hour, and even then the audience was not satisfied. They would have gone on watching Curtis—eating—drinking—jumping—skipping—singing and chasing gold fish—under the water all night, and when he was at length permitted to come out of the tank—exhausted and sulky—they gave him even heartier applause than they had given Hamar.
But the cup of their enjoyment was not yet full. The greatest treat of all was in store for them.
For the third and last part of the entertainment, a cage, containing a large Bengal tiger, was wheeled on to the stage.
“You look precious white,” Curtis remarked, just as Kelson was about to go on.
“I guess you’d look the same,” Kelson retorted, “if you had to hobnob with a tiger. The Unknown always gives me the nasty jobs.”
“And in this case,” Curtis said with a low, mocking laugh, “it also loads you with consolations. The house is full of ladies who adore you, and if you are eaten, just think of the sympathy welling up in their beautiful eyes! If that isn’t sufficient compensation for you, I—” But the remainder of this encouraging speech was lost in a loud roar. The Bengal tiger shook its bars—the audience screamed, and Curtis flew.
With a desperate attempt to look calm, Kelson, clutching the red laryx stone in his left hand, walked on to the stage, whilst the tiger, rearing on its hind legs tried to reach him with its paws.
There were loud cries of “Oh! Oh!” from the audience, and Kelson’s heart beat quicker, when a girl with wavy, fair hair and big, starry eyes, screamed out “Don’t go near it! Don’t go near it!”
As soon as there was comparative quiet Kelson spoke.