Читать книгу Frank Merriwell's Own Company; Or, Barnstorming in the Middle West онлайн

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"Wait, Mr. Burnham. You are not competent to judge till you have seen what I can do. I shall have the assistance of Monsieur Mazarin in doing his most difficult feats."

"But I'm afraid you will bungle one of them, and that will ruin everything. One false move in this kind of a show spoils the whole business."

Frank simply smiled.

"I am not afraid of making any false moves," he said, carefully arranging his coat. "The little trick I am about to perform is not the simplest on the list. Go out in front and watch me."

Then he walked onto the stage, just as the pianist ceased playing.

"Now," said Merry, smiling on his audience and appearing perfectly at his ease, "I would like to borrow a handkerchief—a gentleman's handkerchief. Who will be good enough to let me have one a few moments? Some one, please."

He walked down the steps, while several gentlemen held up handkerchiefs. He passed two of them, selecting one that was pretty large.

"This one will do," he said, lightly, giving it a flirt and spreading it out.