32. CHAPTER XXXII.
SHOWING THAT THE AGE OF MAGIC AND MAGICIANS IS NOT YET OVER.
While speaking or rather hissing those words, the
boon companion underwent much such a change as one
reads of in fairy-books. Out of old materials sprang a
new creature. Cadmus glided into the snake.
The cosmopolitan rose, the traces of previous feeling
vanished; looked steadfastly at his transformed friend a
moment, then, taking ten half-eagles from his pocket,
stooped down, and laid them, one by one, in a circle
round him; and, retiring a pace, waved his long tasseled
pipe with the air of a necromancer, an air heightened
by his costume, accompanying each wave with a solemn
murmur of cabalistical words.
Meantime, he within the magic-ring stood suddenly
rapt, exhibiting every symptom of a successful charm—
a turned cheek, a fixed attitude, a frozen eye; spellbound,
not more by the waving wand than by the ten
invincible talismans on the floor.
“Reappear, reappear, reappear, oh, my former friend!
Replace this hideous apparition with thy blest shape,
and be the token of thy return the words, `My dear
Frank.'”
“My dear Frank,” now cried the restored friend,
cordially stepping out of the ring, with regained self-possession
regaining lost identity, “My dear Frank,
what a funny man you are; full of fun as an egg of
meat. How could you tell me that absurd story of
your being in need? But I relish a good joke too well
to spoil it by letting on. Of course, I humored the
thing; and, on my side, put on all the cruel airs you
would have me. Come, this little episode of fictitious
estrangement will but enhance the delightful reality.
Let us sit down again, and finish our bottle.”
“With all my heart,” said the cosmopolitan, dropping
the necromancer with the same facility with which he
had assumed it. “Yes,” he added, soberly picking
up the gold pieces, and returning them with a chink to
his pocket, “yes, I am something of a funny man now
and then; while for you, Charlie,” eying him in tenderness,
“what you say about your humoring the thing is
true enough; never did man second a joke better than
you did just now. You played your part better than I
did mine; you played it, Charlie, to the life.”
“You see, I once belonged to an amateur play
company; that accounts for it. But come, fill up,
and let's talk of something else.”
“Well,” acquiesced the cosmopolitan, seating himself,
and quietly brimming his glass, “what shall we talk
about?”
“Oh, anything you please,” a sort of nervously
accommodating.
“Well, suppose we talk about Charlemont?”
“Charlemont? What's Charlemont? Who's Charlemont?”
“You shall hear, my dear Charlie,” answered the
cosmopolitan. “I will tell you the story of Charlemont,
the gentleman-madman.”
