PREFACE

As a life-long member of the “Society
for the Suppression of the Abnormal
Use of the Personal Pronoun,” readers
will readily understand how difficult it
will be for me to refer to myself in this
book. Unfortunately I shall have to, but
I will not prolong the reference more
than is absolutely necessary.

The incidents recorded in this book are
arranged in no particular order for
more reasons than one. To be quite
candid, my study is any odd space I can
plank my typewriter on in the work-
shop. Besides the general noise associ-
ated with a workshop, one youthful
partner sings sweetly whilst she works.
You would not have me stop her,
would you? My other partner has a
penchant for whistling operatic airs.
The weather is decidedlv warm, so
street noises are on the Free List. Of
course there is the night. It is very quiet
then; but my typewriter makes a noise
like a Maxim Gun working overtime.
All that, and the fact that I am not rely-
ing on books to get a living, prevents
the threading of the incidents. Yet who will care? No-one. Provided the facts are accurate, then we
can dispense with such un-nteresting things as order and dates.

I have but two objects in view whilst writing this book. The first is to interest. The second, if possi-
ble, is to amuse.

So I will cut the prattle, and start right away.

2

FORTY YEARS IN & AROUND MAGIC.

I am a genuine Cockney. Millions of people have been born in London but few can say they were
born within hearing distance of the bells of Bow Church in Cheapside. Yet what an inheritance!
Anyone born in that area is born weak; so weak that they cannot hold a bunch of aitches, but keep
dropping them all over the place. Their grammar is listless, and their infinitives horribly split. It is
not a fair start. Anyone born in Ireland, Scotland, or even Lancashire, start with a brogue strong
enough to force their way through almost any difficulty; but a Cockney. Well, what I would like to
see is a Society formed for the Prevention of the Birth of Cockneys. Many humorous writers would
starve to death in consequence, but once gone would never be missed.

MY FIRST TRICK. I was born in 1874, but to be perfectly candid I do not remember much about,
it. I spent an uneventful life until about the age of eight years, when I was taken to the Borough Road
School Rooms (a school connected with St. Georges Church, Boro.) to see a Conjurer. Only one
trick left an impression on my grey matter, and that was the burning of three pieces of tissue paper,
and the production of a lot of small flags. A few months elapsed, and then a neighbour took me for
an outing to Clapham Common. He started to throw money into the lake, and later showed me the
small stone hidden beneath the coin. Afterwards I practiced the move, and that became my first
trick. Then I wanted more.

MESSRS HAMLEYS. Somehow I found Messrs. Hamley’s shop in Holborn. The shop is no
longer there. The site is now occupied by Drage, of “Furnish Drage’s Way” fame.) Almost every
Saturday morning found me pondering over their window display, and selecting a trick correspond-
ing in price to the money in my possession. I was such a small boy the salesman used to come round
the counter, and would kneel when he mystified me with such tricks as The Multiplying Corks, etc.

A MINSTREL. Slowly I gathered together a suflicient number of small tricks to give an entertain-
ment suitable for parties, but my time for practice was very limited on account of my father having
me taught the violin. At the age of 10 years I was playing in public, at Concerts, etc. At 12 years I
was a member of the Black Eagle Minstrels, and on Sundays I was a paid choir boy at St. Mary’s-
at-Hill, Love Lane, Eastcheap. The Black Eagle Minstrels were a second-rate Troupe, and only
worked Halls in and around London. Minstrel Troupes were all the rage then. The Moore & Bur-
gess were at Piccadilly, and the Mowbawks at the Agricultural Hall. I was in the Orchestra, and the
largest place we ever performed in was the People’s Palace, Mile End. When I think of the smallest
Halls we worked, I still shudder. Some were of the “free and easy” type — air full of smoke, and
floor covered in spit. There was not a lot of money hanging to the business, but I was always sur-
prised at the fairness of the share out. Many of us travelled in the cart that moved our proscenium,
scenes, props, and baskets, to save fares. The majority of the Troupe had some kind of work they
could do during the day, but some relied entirely on their share of the Troupe’s earnings. I have
many times seen them sub a penny, and buy a small loaf of bread, which they have eaten with relish;
and not many minutes afterwards they have been making the audience rock with laughter at refer-
ences to their cook being careless, and singeing the wish-bone of a chicken, and other gags associ-
ated with good living.

3

The life taught me one thing and that was to recognize gold when I saw it. Just glitter would never
fool me.

Although I only played the violin in the Troupe, my interest in Magic was always keen. I tried out
many tricks on the men in the Troupe, and got many tricks in return, for they all seemed to know at
least one.

I kept going to school fairly regular, but was often tired after the night work. I might add that the Act
for preventing children under the age of 14 from performing was not then in vogue, and we could do
just what we liked.

Mr. GEORGE MUNRO. Then early in August, 1888, the Head Master at the school I was attend-
ing called me to his desk. “An application has been made to me by the Edison Phonograph Co: who
require a junior clerk. It seems to present great possibilities, and as you are now leaving school, I
thought you might care to apply for the situation. You will ask for a Mr. George Munro; and, by the
way, wear trousers.” Later in the day I walked into the Edison Offices at 181 Queen Victoria Street.
The interview with Mr. Munro is of sufficient interest to detail, and went as follows:-

“Can you speak French?”

(Mon Dieu. Je ne pane pas Anglais.)

“No, Sir.”

“Can you write Shorthand?”

“No, Sir.”

“Can you operate the Typewriter?”

“No, Sir.”

“Do you understand Book-keeping?”

“No, Sir.”

By that time my eyes began to look towards the door, for I always like to see where I am going; but
the next question altered the whole situation, and got me one. “Let me see your handwriting.” I
wrote. “That will do. The wages are 5/- per week. Can you commence on Wednesday?” I com-
menced on Wednesday, and the first thing I did was to take Mr. Munro’s hat to be ironed, des-
patched a telegram, and then cleaned the Typewriter. Oh, what wonderful possibilities. Anyhow, I
was surprised to find that Munro could not speak French; that the Typewriter was a great novelty
only just on the market; that the Book-keeping consisted chiefly of entries of Office expenses and
petty cash, and the Phonograph was intended to displace shorthand writers. All the same, that even-
ing I signed on at an Evening School for three classes:- French, Shorthand, and Book-keeping. I
meant to hold the job.

4

PROFESSOR DONN. It was at 181 Q. V. St. that I first met Mr. Henry Donn. He was connected
with a Mission to Deep Sea Fishermen, which had its offices on the same floor.

COLONEL GOURAUD. The head of the Phonograph Co. was a Colonel Gouraud - Colonel in the
American Army. He was a very big man, and one day after I had climbed on to a stool, and was in-
dexing the Letter Book, he towered over me and told me I should be dismissed instantly if I failed to
do the work correctly. Can you imagine a small weedy boy of 14 having the wind put up him by a
huge man who had commanded part of an Army. Of course I found out later that the gentleman was
not exactly right to our way of thinking. When his wife died, the papers were full of the funeral that
took place Brighton way. The Colonel said it was not a time to mourn; so he had white horses, col-
oured clothes, and got the whole affair up in almost Carnival style. Another time he wanted to pay
his Income Tax in American money, and other funny stunts.

EDISON HOUSE. We did not stay long at
181, but soon moved to a more pretentious
building in Northumberland Avenue. It was
immediately named “Edison House,” and
was situated right opposite the Hotel Metro-
pole. The first thing the Colonel ordered was
a Flag Staff. Laying in the glitter the pole
looked half the length of the Avenue. When it
was erected it looked like a short clothes
prop. We had an old man named Flynn who
did odd jobs, and he was told to hoist the Un-
ion Jack. It was too much for him to tackle
alone, so he came down and asked me to help
him. Rather. Well, I held the end of the flag
so that it should not pull some chimney pots
off and the old man started to hoist. All of a
sudden the wind bellied the flag out, and I
was lifted off my feet, flopped over the cop-
ing with nothing but the street under me, and
flopped back again. Then I released my hold.
Poor old Flynn did look sick. I decided after
that experience to leave flag flying alone, and
keep to kites.

The Colonel was a great man for shouting,
especially down the staircase. We did not
know who, but someone had died, and he
yelled for the flag to be flown at half mast.
The roar was all very indistinct, and I seemed
to be the only one who could hear him, and
explained to Flynn that that the flag was to
flown at half past. Flynn waited until the half

5

hour was nearly due, and then pulled the flag to the top of the pole. Goodness what a commotion.

About this time I got to hear a very great secret. Mr. Munro had married a Miss Galley who was
Mistress of the Infant Section of the School I had attended.

Colonel Gouraud had the American trait of “go-ahead”, and he issued an order that every man, boy,
woman or girl in the building should have a thorough knowledge of Electricity and General Me-
chanics. The first to kick was the wife of the Housekeeper. Eventually the Classes were confined to
all the males, and it does not require much imagination to conjure up a class composed of the heads
of the firm, mechanics, packers clerks, office boys, messenger boys, and doorkeeper. The Chief
Electrician (Mr. F. C. B. Cole) was a brainy man, and he caused much discomfort by suddenly call-
ing up on members of the class to explain what he had lectured upon. On one occasion he put the
following question to the class:- “What is a curve?” As he pointed to individuals they shook their
heads, and at last he pointed to me. I rose, and answered:- “A curve, Sir, is a straight line bent.”
There was much commotion, and the class ended abruptly. In a few minutes I was called to the
Board Room. A Major Sangster wanted to tell me something, and he told me. He was not at all am-
biguous, and what he said would want a lot of packing in a nut shell, even of the species Coco; but
boiled down it meant that I had to quickly mend my ways, or make way for someone else who had
not such a distorted idea of humour. As he had not dismissed me, I assumed he did not want me to
leave; but I was quite a quiet lad for the rest of the day.

Then a few days later I thought I should really have to sever my connection with the Edison Co. The
Colonel had a son named Jack, and he was home from College. He was about 18 years of age, and a
fairly tall youth. In the afternoon he got some money out of the Colonel, and went down to Holywell
Street, and bought a rifle. When he returned we were about to close the offices. Then he drawled:- “I
say, Leat. Will you stay and put up some targets for me.” The gun interested me, and I agreed. The
basement was very long so we went. down there. I scored a target on some thick wood, and away he
went. Within two minutes he was tired of it. Then he told me to get some wax cylinders. I hesitated.
“It’s all right, Leat: The guvenor will not mind.” I got some wax records that were cracked. As fast
as I could stand them up he shot them to pieces. When the cracked ones gave out, I had to get good
ones. If I remember rightly the plain wax cylinders cost us 10d. each. He potted hundreds. The
housekeeper came and looked at us once or twice, but dare not say a word. Jack told me to fire the ri-
fle, and I did. Then somehow I caught the fever of smashing something, and then I understood how
he was thoroughly enjoying himself.

Tiring of the basement, we went into the workshops. Every cylinder that was visible he shot to
pieces. Then he aimed at the opal gas globes. Once he wanted to fire at me. Then all of a sudden I got
really frightened at the look of the place, for it was simply wrecked. So I went home. Then, so the
housekeeper related, Jack proceeded to the Board Room, and shot all the glass out of the picture
frames, and did other damage. From room to room he went, and only stopped when his 1,000 box of
slugs were used. Once again I was on the carpet, and questioned severely; but I was in a fairly safe
position. As it was the Colonel’s son, it had simply got to be hushed up.

Mrs. Gouraud had a room fitted where she could paint tapestries. I got very interested in it, and —
watching points — I used to go into the room and paint when she’’ was out. The colours would be
ready — just as she had left them in her hurry to dine, or go home; and I have stayed many hours in

6

the evening, with the door locked painting her unfinished tapestry. I was always waiting for a com-
plaint that someone was tampering with her artistic work, for on one occasion I did as much as three
square feet. Maybe she did not remember where she left off.

MAGIC. Then one day, to my great delight, I found some tricks in a cupboard. Some I knew, but
what I did not I soon worked out. As the weeks went by, the stock grew. I knew the tricks belonged
to Mr. Munro, but it would have been a liberty to talk about his private goods unless he had men-
tioned them — which he did not. I can hardly describe the pleasure that cupboard gave me. There
were tricks that I had longed to buy; and as I could handle them in the evenings, they seemed as
good as mine. A five guinea box of card tricks made its appearance one week. I was late home for
many nights afterwards. Then one day Mr. Munro went to the cupboard, and took some of the tricks
out. He wrapped them in paper, and then called me. He wanted me to lock them away in the Store
Room. I longed to tell him I was interested in Magic; but he never unfroze sufficiently, and we went
along a little more as employer and employee. The space made in the cupboard he soon filled up
with more tricks, and I do not believe he had any idea I overhauled them. I never injured them, and I
left them exactly as I found them.

Then one day he was looking at a trick behind a book and tutted because he did not cotton to the
method of working. I had already had a look at it, and knew the secret. I simply had to do it, so I
made some excuse of going to his desk, and then offered to explain the working. For the moment I
thought I had put my foot into it, for he quickly said:- “What do you know about Magic?” I showed
him. Then he sent me back to my desk, and no more was said for some weeks. Then one day I saw
him hooking a penny on to his coat; and he casually said:- “Don’t think much of it.” Now he had
only just bought it, whereas I bad been working one for years; so I offered to work it. That hooked
penny broke down the barrier. I got him interested, and then went on with the Travelling Penny. I
followed that up with a few crude sleights with unprepared coins, and we had a very pleasant hour.
Then back to business, and no more said.

MAURICE GARLAND. Then quite a time passed before one day Mr. Munro came back from
lunch with a gentleman, and asked me to show him my coin work. I had no idea who he was, so did
not worry in the least. I went through my little run of coin work, and as I did so the smile broadened
on his face. When I had finished he just nodded his head.

Then I went on working, but wondered who he could be. He was good looking, immaculately
dressed, and had a splendid carriage. Waiting my opportunity, I asked who be was, and was told that
he was Maurice Garland, one of the leading Society entertainers. Then I felt that I had been made to
look foolish, but did not say so.

Maurice Garland called many times, for he often lunched with Mr. Munro. Then one day Mr.
Munro said:- “There must be a lot of profit on Magical Apparatus.” May I be forgiven for my youth-
ful ignorance, for I replied:- “There must be.” Then he explained that he was thinking of going into
the business, aud would get the workmen on the premises to make certain tricks which he would ad-
vertise. Now, the Edison Company’s workmen were no fools, but they made an unholy mess of
many lines they attempted. Shell pennies they quickly refused to make, pleading that they could not
afford to pay for the spoils. Then we found out what thousands of people do not know to-day, and
that was that if you want proper conjuring tricks you must go to the mechanics who specialize in

7

them. A man may be a marvellous mechanic, but unless he has a thorough knowledge of Magic, and
a real liking for it, he will never turn out good apparatus. It stands to reason that a real mechanic has
been taught to make things the right way. Magical Apparatus is not made the right way, and there
the trouble commences. Again, the sale of tricks is so limited that there is no possibility of mass pro-
duction. I have heard men, who should know better, talk of factories for the production of Magical
Apparatus. Because an article was stamped in a Press, instead of being spun on a lathe, would not
increase the sales. A Factory would stamp. The jobbing mechanic who makes tricks would spin it.
Factory would close down, whereas the jobbing mechanics would continue to get a living — even if
it was an uncertain one. Can anyone point to a man or Depot who has made real money in the manu-
facture of Conjuring Tricks? I cannot, but I can tell of many who have lost it. More than one real
Performer has possessed the idea that he paid through the nose for his apparatus and Illusions, and
so much so th at he has invested his savings in a Magical business as a short cut to wealth, and then
quickly lost the thousands of pounds he had saved by working the Halls as a Magician. This is not
just so much talk. It would be unfair to publish any names, but if anyone has any doubts I would like
to have a chat with them for a few minutes. If anyone knows the business thoroughly, they can get a
living —sometimes doing well, sometimes doing bad — but never making a fortune, or anything
that could be classed as big.

Well to come back to the Edison men, they were a complete failure. Then we went outside. We
asked firms to quote, and they did — in grosses, whereas we only required three, six or at the most a
dozen. The firms turned the jobs down, because the orders were so small. Slowly our eyes were
opened to the real position of the business, and we started to look for the workmen who made for the
existing Conjuring Depots. When we found them we discovered that none of them owned their own
carriage. We also advertised for mechanics from the Edison House address, but when they found
what the work was, they would have nothing to do with it.

PHIL DAVIS. One man saw the advertisment, and jumped at it — thinking he would have a chance
to work out some of Edison’s ideas. That man was Phil Davis. He dressed himself up, and strolled
into the Hall complete with patent leather shoes, silk hat, frock coat, etc, etc. After the necessary in-
troduction, Mr. Munro kicked right off with:- “Can you make this?”, and showed him a Cannon
Ball from Hat. Davis nearly had a fit. Here was a man who had received a College education, held a
B. S. Degree, and all the rest of it, asked if he could solder cistern balls, and add a sliding section.
Davis was a curious fellow, and after examining the article very carefully, he said:- “Yes, - I - think
- I -could - make - them.” “Then could you let us have 6 this week.” “Is - that - all.” “Yes, for the
time being.” “Good - day, - Mr. - Munro.” When he got out into Northumberland Avenue, he after-
wards admitted he felt dazed. It was not exactly what he expected. In a dreamy sort of way he made
for home via the Charing Cross Road. Opposite St. Martin’s Church a Recruiting Sergeant looked
at him and thinking he was a young nut at a loose end, said:- “Are you going to, my lad?” Davis
paused, and replied:- “I - do - not -mind - if - I - do.” So off they started towards the old Barracks at
the back of the National Picture Gallery but at the corner Davis made for the Garrick Public House.
The Recruiting Sergeant thought he wanted a drink before joining up, so went in with him. Then he
started asking him what Regiment he would like to join. Then the fun started. Davis, in his slow
speech, explained that the Sergeant had said nothing about joining up. What he had said was:- “Are
you going to?”, and as he was going to have a drink, he had no objection to the Sergeant joining in
with him.

8

Davis delivered the Cannon Balls, receiving about 10 shillings and then received an order for 1
dozen Rabbit Saucepans. It was a real joke to see him deliver them. Each in a piece of newspaper,
and all tied together. How the paper tore off, and how they rattled, can be best left to the imagination
of the reader. Then Davis retired gracefully, having quickly grasped the fact that there was nothing
in it. A few years after, Davis turned up again. I shall come to that later.

All this groping in the dark took time and money. Personally I was having a go a time going around
with the Professors who demonstrated the Phonograph. We did the National Sunday League Con-
certs, had side-shows at Olympia, the Royal Aquarium, and dozens of other places.

GERMAN EXHIBITION. I got permission to leave the Office, and worked for five months at the
German Exhibition, Earls Court. It was tiring work. 10 a.m. to 10 p.m., wages £1 per week, but it
was a splendid experience. In those days, a man who could manipulate a Phonograph was called an
“Expert.” He had to be. Well, then were three of us, and the other two did not care a jot if they an-
swered questions or not. One was unfortunately ill, and the other, too superior to talk to a man (or
woman) who paid a shilling to come in and listen to the Phonograph. Consequently I was the only
one who was willing to impart any information, and to be perfectly candid, I did so because I found
it paid. I was never short of pocket money and cigars; had many invitations to visit the Buffet, made
friends, and generally got on very well.

We never had any liking for the Germans even in the old days, so you can imagine our joy when we
witnessed the following incident. The German Band was ordered to meet the Kaiser, who was com-
ing to visit the Exhibition. Something went wrong, and the Band missed the train. The little Con-
ductor (who wore a sword as big as himself) cried like a child, and started to pull his hair out. I have
never seen anything so funny. I know it was a case of God help the fellow when he returned to Ger-
many; but one can get bald ever so quick without tearing it out.

I saw the Kaiser at close quarters aud the only impression he gave me was just “bluff.” His eyes
were restless, and his moustache very fierce; but it would take more than a few hairs on a mans lip to
put tbe wind up an Englishman, so his get-up could be considered extremely foolish.

EUGENE SANDOW. Sandow had an Exhibition next door to our Lecture Hall, and needless to
say I was interested. I bought his apparatus, and soon became a strong, but not silent, youth. General
Physical Culture should be the first thing for anyone to seek. After that a straight left and a right
hook, together with a few moves of Jiu-jitsu, and you can walk around Without any fear of molesta-
tion.

PROFESSOR FIELD. At the Royal Aquarium we had a sideshow, but it was not exactly a suc-
cess. Consequently I had time to wander round the place quite a lot. The first person I got to know
was Professor Field. I had to make my own introduction, and it was not easy, for the simple reason
he prefered to talk to paying customers. Another gentleman who interested me a lot was Professor
Cross, the Phrenologist. I had my bumps felt in public at the Aquarium. Later I met him when tour-
ing, for he made a “turn” of his “bump feeling”, and it proved a very amusing Act.

9

I think it was at this time that I first met Carlton. He was touting for Zaeo’s Garden, and I really
thought more of his chat than I did of the Garden Illusion. The Illusion was pretty enough, but Carl-
ton could gag.

Later I saw him working a sideshow, where he challenged people to “Cover the Spot.”

A few years later, business again took me to the Aquarium, where I met at different times, Rigollo,
Playfair, Professor Dent, and many others. They used to give a one hour show, three times a day.
What a life. Many country folks would get into the Aquarium directly it opened at about l0 a.m., and
stay until after 11 p.m. They would then get three hours of Magic, with possibly an Illusion per-
formed twice on the Central Stage. When these “country” audiences were in number, the performer
tried to alter each hour’s show; but it was a difficult thing to do satisfactorily, for it meant leaving
out of the second and third performances really good tricks that were certain to please, and substi-
tute less popular ones. And for all that, the pay was 30 shillings to £2 per week.

HERR FRITZ. Just before the Aquarium closed, Herr Fritz (father of William Henshall, or Leo
Fritz ) had a long run there. He told me he saved money, so some of the turns must have been in re-
ceipt of a fair salary, in spite of the fact that the Aquarium was humorously refered to as “The Work-
house.” When I look back, I really think the Aquarium saved many from the real Workhouse, for it
was one of the many places a Conjurer could scrape a few shillings together. To-day these places do
not exist.

SULPHURIC ACID. Small beginnings sometimes have large endings, as the following incident
will show. Mr. Munro suddenly conceived the idea of installing an Ice Cream machine where he
lived at Gunnersbury. He sent me to Bond Street to see the machine operated. They explained it
thoroughly and left it at that. The idea was to create a vacuum above the liquid to be frozen, and then
allow the fumes of Sulphuric Acid to enter. Well, the pumping required to procure real ice was
enough to make a person sweat blood. All the same, it went to Gunnersbury. Then a carboy of Sul-
phuric Acid was wanted. We had many carboys at Edison House, but it was not an article that gen-
eral carriers would take. I mentioned our requirements to our American Carriers, Messrs Staveley
& Starr, and their Carmen took the carboy to their Shaftesbury Avenue Depot. Their idea then was
to send it by a special van. This happened on the Thursday before a Good Friday. We packed up at
the Office early, and did not return until the following Tuesday, quite unconscious of an awful trag-
edy. A messenger from Staveley’s was waiting, and he had been trying to find one of us all through
the holidays. It appeared that the special van was all ready and the man started to roll the carboy of
Sulphuric Acid towards the door. In doing so, he struck it against the corner of the large weighing
machine. Thirty-six gallons of commercial Sulphuric Acid were released all over the shop. It filled
the carmen’s boots, and presently he was screaming with pain, and was taken to the hospital. Pande-
monium ensued, for the acid quickly worked its way through the cracks in the floor, and dripped on
the store room beneath. Men working there looked up, and got burnt about the face as the drips of
Acid touched their skin. Other men’s feet got burnt, and no-one knew what to do. They got a chem-
ist, and he told them to soak it up with whitening, which they did; but the trouble was to get enough
of it quickly.

Well, I got to their shop, and shall never forget the scene. It appears that they had just had a large
consignment of “Munyon’s Remedies” over from America, and the acid was eating the corks out of

10

the bottles. Munyon’s English Agent was there viewing the damage, and I was introduced to him.
Not much in that, but his name happened to be Dr. Crippen. He was afterwards hung for murdering
his wife, Bella Elmore, a variety artist. Crippen’s arrest was accomplished by the aid of wireless,
the first criminal to be arrested by that means. We all acclaimed it a wonderful thing. Now most
Conjurers are cursing wireless, as it is a temporary rival to Magic.

PRESS BAZAAR. I was fortunate enough to he with the Phonograph at the famous Press Bazaar at
the Hotel Cecil, and had the honour of speaking to Queen Alexandria. We had a side-show at the
Panorama of the Battle of Waterloo, which was shown in Astley Place — off Victoria Street. Hercat
was also there, and his two chief items were Wool turning to Hot Coffee, which he handed round,
and his famous Illusion “She”. He seemed quite an old man then, but he lived on, and I had many
chats with him afterwards. We once clashed in Walworth Workhouse, but I dropped most of my
tricks and kept to the Juggling. He went well with the Linking Rings, and the Dyeing Handkerchief
trick.

H. HINKS MARTIN. Whilst at the Edison Co., I chummed up with a young man named Hinks
Martin, He was exceedingly clever, and a splendid Lecturer. He also did a Female Impersonation
Act, and we often got on the same bill at the smalls and Concert work. In those days I used to ask 10
shillings for my Juggling and Conjuring turn, but have often gone for half-a crown if the distance
was easy. The idea was to take what you could get, for often profitable engagements were obtained
through going for just the train fare in the first instance.

I christened him “Jimmy”, and we got along exceedingly well together. One day he poked his head
into my office, and said, “Do you know how to work the Cinematograph?” I imumediately replied
“Yes.” “Then meet to-night”, and away he went.

CINEMATOGRAPH. Now the Cinematograph had made its first appearance in London on the
previous evening, and all I knew about it was what I had read about it in technical papers. Yet I had a
good knowledge of Lantern work, and was a skilled Limelight manipulator. How I got that knowl-
edge was amusing. One of our Engineers was named C. R. Johnstone, and he was always willing to
help. So Mr. Munro soon enlisted his services to work the Lantern and Limelight effects when he
was interested in Tableaux Vivants at the Chiswich Town Hall near Gunnersbury. One day John-
stone wished he could get out of the evening work, for he wanted to meet someone; and he turned to
me and said, “You could work this if I taught you. Will you go?” I jumped at the opportunity, and
the same night I was working a Limelight, and small Electric Lamps for effects. Johnstone after-
wards explained to me the working of every Limelight jet, and Electric Arc Lamp on the market,
with the result that I could go around and work anybody’s outfit in Hall or Theatre.

When I met Jimmy after office hours, he suggested we should take up the Cinematograph right out
of its cradle. Messrs Paul, Electrical Apparatus Makers, had just taken the manufacture up, and to
them we went. The machines shown in London were Lumier’s of Paris, but Paul was quickly off the
mark with an English make, and away we went as partners under the names “Somerset & Alberto.”
I kept to my Juggling name, whilst Jimmy used Somerset — the county in which he was born. As
Jimmy had financed the business to a greater extent than myself, his name took precedence. Both of
us were hustlers to the extent that we booked engagements before we had actually got the machine.
Anyhow, our first engagement was at the Windsor Castle Music hall, Woolwich; and we worked in

11

a Saturday Night Popular at the Chelsea Town Hall the same week. We quickly got our money
back, and then drew equal shares of the profits. I do not want to go into details, but our kick off con-
sisted of 10 Films, each about 40 ft. long, and the actual showing time would consecuently be 10
minutes; but with Jimmy as Lecturer we had no difficulty in making the show last 20 minutes. I im-
proved the machine as we gained experience, and added to our films.

I JOIN GARLAND. Then Garland asked where we were working, for he wanted to see the show.
Afterwards he made a proposition. He explained that he was unable to give an entertainment lasting
the whole evening. He could only do Conjuring, and if it had to last over the hour, the best of audi-
ences got a little tired. Would I join him, and then he could book more engagements? He knew I was
tied to the Edison Co. during the day, but could always get away through the kindness of Mr.
Munro. So he undertook to do all the Agent work, and see to all the bookings so that all would be
quite clear for me, and I would only have to do the actual show. As another incentive to join him, he
explained that he was quite friendly with Mr. Archie Maskelyne, and Mr. Facer, and would he al-
lowed to purchase films from them after they had run a week or two at the Egyptian Hall. So we
shook hands on the new combine, and did wonderfully well. Garland’s bookings increased to a sur-
prising extent, for I altered the machine so that I could work in any Drawing Room without disturb-
ing anybody or anything, and the combined shows made a novel and complete entertainment. The
partnership with Garland lasted for many years, and as the arrangemnent was that his bookings
should come before any we might procure, it will be readily seen that Jimmy could not hustle after
engagements. There was then no need; but we shared right up to the day we sold the business up.
Jimmy seldon took an active part in the shows, for whenever I wanted any help he sent his brother-
in-law, Alex Paterson. Needless to say he was Scotch, but a very happy man, and a man I was al-
ways pleased to meet. He had his little growls at times, but I think his life was made brighter when
he accompanied me on difficult shows, and I am positive a smile oftimes flits across his face when
he recalls the numerous journies together. One of my jocular methods of whiling away the time on a
railway journey used to cause him pain. For instance, say we were in a train coming from Kent. It
would stop at Woolwich, but the moment it had started, I would immediately enquire if it stopped at
New Cross. It didn’t and I knew it didn’t; but when they informed me that it would not stop before it
reached London Bridge, I would indulge in a little acting. I would let my bottom jaw drop, and go
all limp. The passengers would get interested, and then I would patter to them. “Goodness, our
wives are waiting for us there. We have been away nine months. It wouldn’t matter so much if it
wasn’t for the kiddies having to hang about the cold station. My wife has got five all under eight
years, and his wife has four.” And so I used to pile on the agony, and I could see them picturing in
their minds two women with nine children, waiting for us at New Cross, (or at any other station on
any other line I cared to work the joke.) I am a fair judge of human nature, and I used to watch for the
man who inwardly enjoyed our predicament; and you would be surprised at the number of folks
who enjoy seeing others in trouble. Then I would address myself entirely to him, and so get the at-
tention of the remaining passengers direct on him. It is curious how quickly some of these men get
flustered when they are being looked at, or hear their own voice in public; and I would ply him with
all manner of funny questions. They were not fair or straight questions, and consequently the man
looked foolish when he endeavoured to answer; but never for one moment would anyone think I
was leg pulling. I was in too much distress. Yet all the while poor Alex had to sit with a sorrowful
look on his face, or bury it in his handkerchief to smother a laugh when I sprung a new gag.

12

On many occasions I would be too busy to change at the office, and would wait until I got into the
train. As I then had the happy knack of being able to gag without grinning, I always got through with
the joke; and having a fair knowledge of time-tables I never got let down when working them. I
would look at the person next to me, or anyone else in the carriage, and say:- “I trust you will not
think me indecent if I change my collar?” The reply would invariably be “Not at all.” Then I would
commence taking off my coats, and go on gagging. “Why I mentioned it is because someone once
objected to me turning the carriage into a dressing room.” “Very narrow minded of them.” “That is
exactly what I thought.” By that time I would have removed my collar, and would be pulling my
shirt over my head, all the time pattering:- “It isn’t as though I would have a bath, and splash them.”
By this time the other occupants would be most interested in watching me change my shirt, and you
can imagine their surprise when they saw on my undershirt short sums in addition or division writ-
ten in indelible pencil. If anyone laughed I would look surprised and hurt, and again trust I was not
being indecent. “Oh no, that’s all right”, and they would give me every encouragement to proceed. I
generally followed on by eulogizing the new or clean shirt. “Hope Brothers. Seven and six. Do you
know, I always go there. Yes. They fit me so well.” And so I used to get them guessing whether I
was simple, or of a confiding nature.

Of course there is always more than one side to practical joking. On arriving at one country place I
proceeded to prepare; and took little notice of much laughter that came from one side of the room.
Presently a lady came to me, and said:- “You are from Harrod’s Stores. I do not know your name.”
“My name, Madam, is Leat.” “I hear you are rather good at figures.” “Sufficiently to keep my ac-
counts in order.” “Well, if you entertain my guests this evening as you did my husband in the train
this afternoon, we shall be perfectly satisfied.” Good Lord! Then I wondered if they would report
my fooling side-line, but all was well.

It was a joyful life, and I was overflowing with high spirits. Garland was also a practical joker, and
when we were together there was much fun. One night, on a little country station platform, I
climbed on to Garland’s shoulders, and put the clock forward. Then we went to the Stationer’s
house, and complained about. the train being late. At first he disputed it, but when. we pointed to the
clock he apologized. He happened to be a gentleman.

I often wonder how many Porters have cursed when they have removed the mats out of the Waiting
Rooms. Garland got a lot of fun out of the Rabbit Saucepan, or Cake in the Hat trick. He used many
eggs, but never got rid of them at the place of entertainment, When we got to the Station he would
hold the mat up whilst he shook out the eggs, egg shells, candle fat, flour, currants: and half burnt
match box. Oh! what a find for the Porter.

Garland’s great gag in the railway carriage was to get out his note book and pencil, and start writing.
Most people are inquisitive, and many would quietly watch him. The pencil was of the “hypnotic”
make, with the bent needle at its base. He was expert at attaching this to his palm, and would then
lay back as if trying to remember something. His left hand would hold the book on his knee, and one
finger would slowly tap it to attract attention. His right, hand would rest with its back on the right
knee, and to everyone’s astonishment the pencil would slowly rise. The effect was uncanny, spe-
cially when worked under artificial light, for the passengers were not expecting a trick, and doubted
their own eyesight.

13

Another stunt we got up to used to impress the other passengers immensely. We had a fair number
of counterfeit sovereigns and Roterberg coins. We used to play cards unobtrusively, and call any-
thing from a shilling to £10. We both knew how much genuine money we started with, and these
would be the coins we would purposely drop or leave openly on the newspaper. I know they often
thought that “Fools and their money soon part.” but we adjusted money matters in private. It was in-
deed impressive, for one of us would often lose £50 to £100 in quite a few calls. We worked this
stunt very quietly, yet sufficiently obvious to anyone who was intent on watching.

GARLAND’S LIFE. As Garland and I got intimate, so he talked of his relations and friends. He
was born and lived at Plumstead. He went to an ordinary school, and when he left he did ordinary
odd jobs that some lads do to help bring in a few shillings. Then his father died, and his mother mar-
ried again. That caused Maurice to join the Guards. Many times he had to do ‘sentry-go’ outside
Buckingham Palace. Although Army life was not exactly easy, he still found time to continue prac-
tising Magic, which he had dabbled in when he was a boy. He gave entertainments in the Barracks,
and oftimes got permission to show outside. It was at one of these outside entertainments that a Mr.
Crook saw him perform, and afterwards spoke to him. Mr. Crook was Secretary or Manager of
Messrs Cramer’s Pianoforte shop in Oxford Street, and was a perfect gentleman. The outcome of
their conversation resulted in Garland being bought out of the Army; and he lived for many years
with Mr. Crook; and it was him that Garland thanked for his progress. Mr. Crook corrected his
speech, grammar, manners, deportment, and a hundred and one other things that go towards the
making of an outwardly perfect gentleman. No matter where they were, whether at meals, walking
to business, or spending a social hour together, Mr. Crook was always imparting knowledge and ad-
vice. The result was surprising, for Garland could eventually discourse on any subject in a wonder-
fully intelligent manner. Yet always in the bone was the original Maurice Garland, and he would be
the first to mention it. During the many years we were associated, we only quarrelled twice. The
first dispute was patched up. The second caused me to leave him. We will come to that later on.

THE POLYTECHNIC. For certain reasons I am deeply interested in the Polytechnic, Regent
Street; but my mind always goes back to the old Poly. It was a great show place, and they engaged a
Phonograph for a series of evenings. I was fortunate enough to be the operator sent. Whilst working
and explaining the machines, two gentlemen informed me they were making a Phonograph for their
private amusement, and I gave them material help. These gentlemen were Mr. George Howarth
(undoubtedly the world’s greatest flute maker,) and Mr. Beyer, the engraver. The meeting was
thirty years ago, but the friendship has lasted ever since.

Before my exhibition there, I saw many conjuring shows in the Poly, but I had no programmes, and
have no idea of the performers names. Monsieur C. de Vere. of Paris tells me that at that time he
gave many Lantern and Conjuring entertainments there, but it would be sheer guess work to try and
remember him — even supposing I had seen him perform. He told me that once he arrived there and
found his Oxygen bag quite empty; but they laughed at his trouble, and immediately made all the
gas he wanted. The Poly was, and is, a most wonderful Institution; and my one regret is that I was
never associated with it as an actual member.

BRUXELLES. Mr. Munro sent me to the Belgian Capital to work the Phonograph Patents there. I
visited the Palais d’Ete, or Pole du Nord Music Hall, and enjoyed a show that was new to me in
many respects.

14

THE OLD PLAYGOERS CLUB. Munro claims to have been established since 1889. I joined
him in l888, so the year he states would be right. Of course the actual business was very meagre, and
was done chiefly through advertisements in the Bazaar, Exchange & Mart. Later Munro joined the
Old Playgoers Club, over Gatti’s Restaurant (by the side of the Adelphi Theatre) and worked the
business from there. I kept the appointments, and sold a fair amount of apparatus in the Club Room.
That might have continue indefinitely had they not passed a rule that the Club must not be used for
business purposes. Then something had to be done, and we got together in a real business idea. Mr.
Munro proposed borrowing £200 from his brothers in Scotland, and would risk opening a depot if I
would resign from the Edison Co. and run it for him. I did not hesitate a second when he told me that
I would have complete charge, and had great faith in my ability to establish the depot, and run it suc-
cessfully.

DUKE STREET. There was an empty room to let at No. 4, Duke Street, Adelphi; and we went
round and had a look at it. No time was lost, and we signed the Agreement. Then the business com-
menced. I built the counter, cupboards, show cases, shelves, and goodness knows what else. The
only ready made articles we bought were two chairs, and a roll top desk. The Scotch cheque arrived,
but Parr’s Bank immediately deducted £10 for changing it. Only £190 was placed to our credit, and
that kind of grieved me. I do not think that 5 per cent deduction happens now.

I gathered in the stock from Edison House, and made the best display I could with it; but it was up-
hill work at the beginning. The money was quickly spent, and I was left entirely to my own re-
sources. Yet I kept going. When I took money. I spent it carefully. When there was no money I just
had to go without. To have failed would have made me feel that I had robbed Munro. He helped in
the evening when he could, and in a while we turned the corner.

Someone else was watching the business grow, and he was Maurice Garland. When we went to
shows together I confided in him, and told him my ambitions I wanted to run a Monthly Magazine
on Magic, and had it all drafted out. I intended calling it “THE WIZARD”, and reckoned that it
would boom business, and attract the Conjurers up to the Depot. I kept one drawer for all papers re-
ferring to it, and these he eventually looked through. I intended the first number to start with ‘David
Devant’s photograph on it, for I considered him (at that time) to be our leading magician. John Mas-
kelyne, and his sons, I considered as showmen — never having had the pleasure of seeing them per-
form a single sleight-of-hand trick. I told him Mr. Munro was perfectly willing, for me to start the
monthly, but was not in a position to give me any assistance. I had accumulated many tricks, but
doubted my ability to become a journalist — even if I had the time, — and conduct the paper cor-
rectly. Then I wanted to form a Society of Magicians, all for the interests of Mr. Munro. I had but
one object, and that was to make the business of Ornums a success. Then Garland asked a very per-
tinent question:- “How does the business stand financially?” I told him. “Look here. Couldn’t you
get me into the business. I don’t like to ask George myself. I could show the tricks to the customers
better than you could, and that would give you more time at the desk. I could help you with The
Wizard, for I know all the leading performers. I could get them interested in your suggested Society.
I could make this business pay.” Gee; I wag pleased. Here was an intimate friend we could both
trust, and he would bring the help for me to realize my various ambitions. So I soon explained to Mr.
Munro, and he agreed to us all meeting. We met, and talked it all over; then terms were arranged.
Garland was to give his services for six months, and then become a level partner. Right. That set-
tled, let us get on with the business.

15

Well, in due time the Agreement was made out, and Garland arrived. We immediately started to talk
of the Wizard. I told him I intended bringing it out the following month, and would he go right away
and interview Devant. Before he could reply a customer came in and I retained my seat, thinking
Garland would do the needful; but he said:- “Will you attend, Harry.” So I served. Afterwards I
asked him why he would not serve, and he told me that he did not want the dud customers saying he
was “behind the counter.” He would serve the best professionals. Well, they do not buy, so that was
not likely to be of any use. Then he backed out of seeing Devant, for he did not like the idea of going
about as a reporter. Down came all my plans with a crash. Here was the man who talked big, and
who was going to help so much, just sitting on a seat. To say that I was disappointed hardly ex-
pressed my feelings. I was disgusted. Then Garland tried to save the situation by going behind my
back. He went round to Munro, and suggested they held their business conferences without my
presence. How did I know? Well, I could hardly get it from a more reliable source than Munro him-
self. Well; they met, and discussed one or two matters. The same evening I was privately informed
of all that had been said. The next day Garland came again to the Office in a very domineering man-
ner, and told me what had been decided should be done. “Righto; do it.” “No, not I. You are to do it,
Harry.” Then he had one of the biggest dressings down he ever had in his life. “Look here, Garland.
I’ll waste no time with you. You came in promising a lot, and now you have started the old Sergeant
Major you thought you would like to be when you were in the Army.” Then I repeated something,
which opened his eyes to the fact that Mr. Munro must have been talking to me; and that prevented
him from making a further fool of himself. Then he asked how we stood, and I told him. “First of all,
I will take no instructions from you, and immediately I see Mr. Munro I am tendering my resigna-
tion.” He thought a little, and said, “That means that I am to go.” “Exactly.” He went out, but was
soon back. “Look here, Harry. Everybody knows I have joined the firm and it will look strange if I
am only here for two or three days.” “You can hang around, but do not interfere. I have no wish to
hurt you.” Then he asked how we stood with the private shows; and I told him that he could break
that off as well, and let Jimmy get back to the bookings; but that would have been fatal to Garland
so by offering me better terms I stayed on with him in the private partnership.

THE HISTORY OF THE MAGIC WAND. Mr. George Johnson has published a two-penny his-
tory of the Magic Wand, and in it he writes:- “There are many who will recall the debonnaire
Maurice Garland, ever ready with the latest ‘move’, who for some time managed the concern for
Mr. Munro.” Maurice Garland never managed the concern for one second. He came in as a partner,
immediately showed his incompetence or dislike for the work wanted to be done; and was then al-
lowed to hang around the premises on sufferance, just to save people from talking.

THE FIRST SOCIETY OF MAGICIANS. There was one thing he helped in (which was in-
tended to benefit the firm of Ornums, but was not connected with it in any way) and that was the
first Society of Magicians. This was one of my projects before he joined the firm, and as he was
hanging around he just interested some Magicians in the idea. The Society was formed, and we had
one Dinner and Concert. Then the whole thing fizzled out on account of lack of ability to conduct it
properly. The only man who could be thanked for his efforts to keep the Society going was Mr. Fred
Culpit; but through getting no support from Garland and the other members, he declined to go on.

Should Mr. Johnson re-write his History of the Magic Wand., he can make use of the following in-
formation:- No one managed Ornum’s business except H. L.

16

ENEMIES. Needless to say, in business a man has always one or two enemies and it was highly
amusing to see them approach Garland or Munro and put in a bad word for me. Garland was help-
less, but Munro came and told me what was said, and who had said it.

EXIT GARLAND. So Garland loitered around after he was a partner, much the same as he did be-
fore, but often stayed away for days and weeks; and when he eventually left, no one seemed to no-
tice it. All through I liked Garland, in spite of him trying to ride the high horse. In fact we were
better friends after the business dispute that we were before, and we worked more engagements to-
gether.

THE WIZARD IS PUBLISHED. Some years passed, and I got the business on to a sufficiently
strong footing to enable Mr. Munro give up his other interests and come solid into the Magic game.
Then I immediately brought up the matter of The Wizard, but even Mr. Munro did not care to be-
come Editor. Then we found that Selbit would take the job on for about 15/ per week. Selbit’s name
being used as Editor led to a lot of confusion, for it made some folks think that the paper belonged to
him. Nothing of the kind. The paper belonged to Mr. Munro, and Selbit was a paid employee; other-
wise Selbit would hardly have sued Munro for wrongful dismissal when he required his services no
longer.

No mention is made of the Founders name in George Johnson’s History of the Magic Wand, even
though he wrote it after Mr. Munro had written to him, giving him certain facts, which were pub-
lished in the November 1919 issue of The Magic Wand. To save any possible argument I give the
letter in full.

To the Editor of the Magic Wand.

Sir,

With reference to your brief, but interesting, resume in the September issue of the
early history of the Wizard and the Magic Wand, permit me to point out so as to
avoid any misapprehension on the part of your readers not already acquainted with
the facts as to the founder of the Wizard, that the same distinction should be ac-
corded as to the founding of that now defunct magical magazine that you are good
enough to record as to the founding of the Magic Wand. The suggestion of the title
— The Wizard — emanated from Mr. H.A. Leat and the literary matter was ably
conducted for many years by what I can only describe as a born magical journalist,
Mr. P.T. Selbit.

Geo M. Munro.

No matter whether the History of the Magic Wand is a twopenny or a penny one, let the History part
be correct, if at all possible. Mr. G. Munro was the founder of the Wizard, and as such is entitled to
recognition in any History. The Editor is small fry compared with the Founder or owner, for it is a
fairly simple matter to carry out ideas that have already been carefully thought out and arranged in
readiness. I will quote from George Johnson’s “The History Of ”The Magic Wand."

17

“The Wizard”, being quite an established success, the same support was accorded to Mr. Munro’s
venture — (The Magic Wand.) It is a trifle misleading. The Wizard and The Magic Wand were both
Mr. Munro’s ventures; so why not give him credit for it.

As I have already said, I had arranged for David Devant to be the first Conjurer to be reviewed, and
the first number was a great success, as the three of us had done our best. In the second number I
started a stunt for the continued series of exposures under the heading of:- “A. Bold Pincher.” It ran
for two or three months and then Selbit took exception to it, and stopped the series; but he took the
plum of the next contribution, and used it as a trick. Immediakely three people wrote in, and each
claimed to be the originator of it. Each had to be answered, and then Selbit wanted to come back on
to the idea, but I declined to play second fiddle, and the “Pincher” series stopped. Then many of my
articles were declined as unsuitable, and that started me thinking.

I FOOL SELBIT. I took my time, and eventually got a friend to allow me to use his name and ad-
dress. So as a Mr. F. Cole, I sent in a sarcastic, but humorous, criticism of a trick described in the last
number. Both Munro and Selbit fell into the trap. Not only did Selbit insert my criticism, but he also
published his thanks, and said that further contributions of a similar nature would be welcome. Ye
gods, how I had fooled him I was sorry to fool Munro, for we were the best of friends, but Selbit had
to be brought up with a jerk. Mr. Munro then saw things in a different light, and began to get very
dissatisfied, and suggested that he would drop Selbit if I would take his duties.

THE MAGIC WAND. From a legal point of view we were forced to start another Magazine, and
Mr. Munro christened it “The Magic Wand.” We did it all so secretly that Selbit had not the least
idea anything was wrong, and came in late for the M.S.S. What a shock. The paper was out. Selbit
took action against Munro for wrongful dismissal; but after many postponements Munro was given
the verdict as Selbit did not appear.

ln the first No. of the Magic Wand, there is a huge joke. “Back Numbers” are offered for sale.

Then we worked with a will, and for 3 years I supplied three-quarters of the contents, writing under
all manner of names, such as, “H. L.,” “H. A. L.,” “Nine, stone ten,” “Amateur,” “B. Wayre,”
“Vento,” “Shadow,” and other noms de plume were used by myself to prevent the rag looking like a
one man band. For many years I drew the illustrations to save expense.

It was during this time that I first got to hear of George Johnson, or to take any particular notice of
him.

He praised one of my contributions as follows:-

“Re Mr. B. Wayre and the tomato, he must have used the wrong shape. Such genu-
ine fun as his goes a long way to brighten up any paper. I hope we may have more of
the same sort. Good humour is always acceptable.

Yours &c, 0. G.C."

18

Then for a certain reason, we wanted to be rid of the monthly, and eventually Mr. George Johnson
took it over as a going concern, lock, stock, and barrel.

For quite a time I helped him with contributions, and for some he paid. His method of paying was
very amusing, yet welcome, for money at that time was not at all plentiful on account of additional
expenses. He would pop in and say:- “Go and get a Bass, and can you write this up?” He would hand
me the necessary que for writing with a shilling on top of it. Or again he would invite me to join him,
pay with a two shilling piece, and inform me that the change was mine. So all budding writers take
heart. There is even a little money in Magical journalism. Then for a certain reason, I stopped con-
tributing to The Magic Wand.

Mr. George Johnson, in his History of The Magic Wand, claims that he is the owner of a property
skull that hung over the doorway at No. 4, Duke Street. I have no recollection of it. The street door
was public property, and we were only allowed to have our name painted on a section of the porch.
We rented one room, and that had but one door. Outside of that door was a nameplate, which I had
cut in wood, and nothing else. Had we put anything else, it would most likely have been stolen. In-
side of the room, and immediately above the door was a shelf. In the early days it was filled with Or-
gan Pipes — objects too large to be removed surreptiously. Towards the end of our occupation of
No. 4, it was filled with an assortment of odd boxes. At no time was a skull hung over the door, or
even placed on the shelf. Had we done so (and assuming that it never did the vanishing act) the
“Lads of the Village” would have stuck lighted cigarettes in the jaw, and played other jokes too nu-
merous to mention. Like ordinary shop-keepers we had to take great care of what was left within
reach; but despite precautions very many things were stolen, and, as was proved afterwards — by
people one would least expect to be thieves. So whatever head George Johnson has in his posses-
sion, he can take it from me that it never hung over the door at No. 4 Duke Street — the office of Or-
nums. I did all the fitting the room ever got, and was present at the moving.

From the time I had made the business strong enough for Mr. Munro to come into it, I started to de-
vote myself to the making of apparatus, and opened a workshop in Walworth, sharing my time be-
tween it and No. 4. Phil Davis was doing nothing at that time so he joined me at the workshop for a
regular wage. This went on for a fair time, and then he joined Chung Ling Soo, eventually going
with him to Australia, where he severed his connection with him. Davis was a clever, brainy man;
but his knowledge of Magic was practically nil when he joined us. We were together quite a lot, and
when he left he knew as much about Magic as the next best man. Soo came and told us about the
wonderful man he had found. He acclaimed his ability, his knowledge of Magic, his apparent ad-
vanced ideas, and so on; and then wondered why the recital of it all left Munro and myself quite
cold. Phil Davis had not left us, so we pleased ourselves whether we told Soo we knew him; and we
most certainly had nothing to say against Davis. The only regret was that I had taken so much trou-
ble with a man who was not eventually of any use to Ornum. When Soo returned from Australia he
said:- “So Davis was one of your pupils, was he. I wish you had told me, for I like to know who I am
listening to when a man speaks.

One day I hope to write the details of that trip Soo made to Australia. I am about the only man who
knows all the facts from every source. It would be a story of humour, tears, entreaties, treachery,
and tragedy.

19

There is no finer school for Magic than a Depot where one can collect endless knowledge of tricks
by judicious exchanging of secrets, etc. It lead to Mr. Munro suggesting I gave lessons, and I readily
agreed. The fee charged was moderate, being five shillings per hour; and this we shared, no matter
in whose time the lesson took place. Many are the delightful evenings I have spent at pupils private
residences, and many are the yarns I could spin of curious, happenings, and more curious pupils. At
one time I was instructing three German Waiters. One lived near the old Sadler’s Wells Theatre; the
second near Waterloo Station; and the third at Vauxhall — three of the dowdiest neighbourhoods
and houses it has been my lot to enter. Giving lessons is a kind of snowball stunt. J. Shannon wanted
some moves, and then recommended me to Ronald Pocock, and Ronald to someone else; and so it
went along. By these means I was giving lessons to men who hardly knew the existence of Magical
Depots, or the ways and doings of Magicians. I have no record of the number of men I have taught,
but one has left a lasting impression. I was recommended by Dr. Wingfield, and called at a house of
another Doctor in Shaftesbury Avenue. Everyone seemed quiet, sad, and glum; and when I was left
alone with the Doctor’s brother, I felt far from happy. After instructing the silent pupil, I suggested
he should try some of the moves; but he declined, and then requested me to continue showing him
sleights. Now that worked out at a Special Conjuring Entertainment In Your Own Home for five
Shillings an hour, a ridiculously low price. So I started to patter to him, and he seemed to like it,
whilst the hands of the clock seemed to work overtime. Again and again I called, and at last he tried.
He mocked me splendidly, and I was pleased. I was never happy with the quiet man, yet sorry when
he left to work the Hydros. A few weeks passed, when a press cutting told the end of the story. Alas;
he had gone the wrong road. Here was a cultured man, unassuming, and of refined tastes (as I knew
him) charged with begging in the streets. Police evidence showed he had been a voluntary inmate in
an Inebriates Home at Cockermouth, and they gave other pathetic evidence. Shortly afterwards I
heard he was dead. What a fool. Drink, like many other things, is meant for our enjoyment, and it is
a poor nincompoop who at some time or other has not overstepped the mark; but to let it get master
to that awful extent where a man will beg to get money for drink only goes to show a diseased mind.
I could name a dozen or more who have gone that way, but the percentage is so low that I fail to see
why millions of folks should be deprived of the normal use of alcohol because a few demented peo-
ple abuse it. That could only be the idea of a crank, a busybody, or killjoy; and these are as maniacal
as the diseased mind craving for drink.

CHARLES MUNRO. Munro’s brother joined the firm, and was incidentally the cause of us leav-
ing No. 4 Duke street. He brought money into the business, and the idea was to take larger premises
to attract more customers. I was against the idea from start to finish, and argued it out with Munro
on any and every occasion. There is just so much business in Magic. It is shared unequally amongst
the Depots, but no one Depot will ever succeed in getting it all. There is certainly money in Magic,
but you must keep your expenses very low so that the profit is not swallowed up in that direction.
We made a profit, after paying all expenses, at No. 4. Our total rent and light account did not exceed
£1 a week, and that gave us a chance to earn more than our salaries and all other expenses; but the
moment we moved to larger premises our expenses were so great, that the battle was lost the mo-
ment we started fighting it. It could not, and did not increase our business.

While I am writing this, Magic in general is experiencing one of the hardest times it has ever been
through. General trade depression, glorious weather, and a year of “Wireless” has struck Magic an
awful blow; yet only a few months ago an Editor expressed his opinion that the time was now ripe

20

for the erection of a Factory for the manufacture of Conjuring Apparatus. Well, he can put his
money into the concern if he believes his own words, but for myself, well, it’s too hot to laugh.

When we moved to No. 9 we had a showroom, and quite a number have officiated behind the coun-
ter in it. There were Albert Morrow; J. Edward Wheeler, and George Johnson, to name three. Mor-
row’s stay was brief. We had a splendid junior in the firm named Jim Barker, aud he left on account
of a quarrel with Morrow. That upset everyone, so Morrow departed.

Then came J. Edward Wheeler, (not J.A. Wheeler as given in George Johnson’s History of the
Magic Wand.) He was a man who knew his business, and was an artist when it came to displaying
goods. He was really clever at his particular branch of business. He stayed quite a time, and was a
splendid salesman.

Later appeared George Johnson. He was making himself familiar with the whereabouts of the
goods we had for sale the first time I met him; and the impression he gave me was that he was highly
strung or nervy. He may have been comfortable with us, but he never appeared to be. When he got
to know us, he oftimes kept us highly amused with selections from his repertoire of amusing stories.

We had a peculiar housekeeper at that time. Some said she was mad. They may be right. I am none
too sure of my own mental stability to be able to pass an opinion on others. Well, it would be an
every day and night occurance to suddenly look up, and see her head protruding round the door
post, with a wild ‘love-light’ in her eyes. Ugh! It was uncanny, and no matter how much we braced
our nerves, there was always that little internal kick when we saw her head there. We never saw it
get there. it was always there. She seemed pergectly harmless; yet I always took pains to have a few
things in certain places, so that — should she change her habits and add the rough stuff — I should
be able to coax her in no uncertain manner. I have seen much when performing at Lunatic Asylums.
It took 6 nurses to dissuade one lady that I was not her husband in Kent County Asylum. The Doctor
afterwards informed me no action would be taken against me.

Of course the housekeeper had to eventually leave, and there was a sigh of relief from Johnny and
myself.

When George Johnson arranged to take over the sole Editorship of the Magic Wand he left us, and
took an Office at 24 Buckingham Street. It was an Office, but I immediately gave some offence by
calling it a cupboard. Munro received a certain number of free advertisements as his share of the
deal when The Magic Wand changed hands; but as the War was in progress, they were of little use
to him.

About two or three years before Johnson’s advent into the firm of Munros (for we changed our
name when Charlie Munro came into the business) I had broken away from Garland. We had gone
on without a hitch until he got married; when he suddenly thought of his responsibilities, and
wished to lower my fees. My only answer was to go right out of the Picture showing business, a
business we had built to suit our requirements. Garland was left in a terrible hole, for he had a
pocket full of contracts and had to fulfil them. He wired and rushed all over London after me, and I
have since learned he would have raised instead of lowered my fee had we met; for he was in terri-
ble trouble over the shows. He hired a man with a machine, and they fired a film in the drawing

21

room right away. The operator next found wanted a fee larger than Garland was getting himself. A
third operator refused to travel far. Another arrived too late to give the show; and all the time com-
plaints were pouring in to the Agents. I never held a contract. They were booked by Garland.

Well, we never met; but I heard he was going down the ladder on account of loss of shows. A year or
two went by, and one day I passed the Showroom, and recognized the voice of the person Johnson
was serving. It was Garland. Well, he could stay there for all I cared; but he soon heard I had come
to the Office, and called me. Poor old Garland; I hardly knew him. His face was disfigured, and he
was a trifle shabby. His linen was frayed, and he was untidy. Neither spoke but he put his arm round
my neck, and we moved into the passage, then from there into the St. Martins. His eyes were moist
when he said:- “You and I have had some happy times together. What a fool I was to do anything to
stop them.” We talked of many, many things, and promised to meet as often as we could. But we
never met again. Many things at first prevented us; then the War, and his death afterwards.

DOUGLAS BEAUFORT. The only time Garland showed a trick, or a ‘move’, was when he had an
object in view. He looked down upon anyone who had not made a name; and has said to me dozens
of times:- “They are only crawlers. Let them find out the same as I have done.” He was never ready
or willing to show anything that mattered, and was always jealous of his knowledge and position in
Magic. When Douglas Beaufort died, Garland met Dr. Byrd Page, and said:- “Now there are only
two of us left.” That Monarch of Sarcasm immediately replied:- “Yes I am one; but who is the
other?”

DOUGLAS DEXTER. By the way, it was Garland and myself who gave Douglas Dexter his
name. I do not remember Dexter’s real name in the old days, but he proudly showed a programme of
one of his performances, and Garland said:- “It is all right, barring the name. You want a double-
barrelled name that is impressive, yet easily remembered. Dexter will do, but you should preceed it
with, er —” and as I happened to be looking at Beaufort’s Photograph on the wall at the time, I
chimed in with “Douglas.” That happened to be the Christening Ceremony of a young man who has
become wonderfully expert since.

Dr. BYRD PAGE. Dr. Byrd Page and myself were good friends, and, curiously, I never feared his
sarcasm — possibly because he was never sarcastic to me. He could have been quite easily. My
face, my figure, my speech, my mannerisms, my opinions, — all would have given him ample
scope for sarcasm at my expense. Yet he would listen to me, with his jaws set, when I pointed out to
him how foolish he was to make enemies. “Wait until they attack you, and then reply as hard as you
think fit; but not before.” He did some awfully curious things. At one time a Mr. Wade used to call
at the Office. He was a very rich man, and exceedingly generous. He sent the Dr. a ham, and it was
immediately returned. I asked the Dr. why he returned it, for it offended Wade quite a lot. “He sent
me food. Do I look as though I required food?” Alas; his end was sad. Owing to a bereavement, he
did what he had always condemned; and that was to find relief in the cup that should cheer, but
which, in his case, literally drowned his sorrows; for he dropped down in a Leicester Square Cafe,
and was afterwards taken to Charing Cross Hospital.

I LEAVE MUNROS. I was with Mr. Munro from 1888 until 1915, and it was a wonderful time.
We had got on splendidly together, and neither of us had any regrets — at least, I had none until
1914. Then I wanted to leave. Why I wanted to sever my connection need not be gone into here; but

22

after satisfying myself that I was justified in doing so, I just waited an opportunity to retire grace-
fully. The chance came in 1915, and I left. The following extracts from Mr. Munro’s correspon-
dence, were written by him after I had left. Therefore they are of more value and interest, than if
they had been written whilst I was with him.

COPY EXTRACTS.

9, Duke Street,
Adelphi, London. W.C.

April, 1915.

Dear Harry,

On the strength of the recollection of nearly 30 years unbroken friendship, I now
hasten to write this letter to you.

I consider you, have done, aud will consider you part and parcel of the firm, not from
any financial standpoint, but from a moral and personal one; and that is why I like to
see you and discuss affairs.

I close this letter by saying that you always have had, and continue to have my abso-
lute confidence, respect, and in many cases admiration of your abilities and loyalty.

Yours very faithfully,

(Signed) Geo. Munro.

Mr. Munro eventually sold the business for quite a small sum of money to Stanley Norton, who
parted with his interests to Bertie Bretma, and Bretma sold out and joined the Great Carmo Com-
pany in a responsible position.

That was the passing of “Munros” — at one time the leading Magical Depot with customers all over
the world.

YE OLD SAINT MARTIN. This hostelry was opposite No. 4, and was the cause of Munro’s one
complaint. “I would prefer doing business in the Office, and not over there was his only adverse
criticism of my management of the business, but I explained that I was getting business and holding
business at no expense to himself. He still argued, but when he eventually came into the business, he
found that much had to be done that was not quite orthodox from a strictly business point of view. I
had always the interests of Munro at heart, and he knew it. And so he let me go the road I thought
best. Many a Conjurer would come along and buy something just to get me out and start some fun.
Some of the stunts that I used to get up to were villiauous. I would secretly remove the water carafe
from the counter, and empty it. Then I would remove the shell from a boiled egg, and insert a piece
of lighted paper in the water bottle, and place the egg on mouth of same. As the burning paper con-
sumed the air, so the egg would be sucked into the bottle where it would burst, making a beastly

23

mess. All my customers liked to see this wonderfull experiment; but the barmaid cursed me in every
language known under the sun.

Many glasses used to stand inverted on the counter. We would fill one, put a postcard on the top, in-
vert it again, and return it to its proper place, carefully removing the postcard from beneath it. Then
we would stand clear, in the rush hour the girlie would take an order, pull up the glass quickly, and
flop would go the water all over the counter, and anybody who happened to be near. By the aid of
black thread, customers would unconsciously produce spiritualistic effects when they entered,
causing flower pots and ferns to mysteriously fall with a crash. There were more jokes and surprises
at Ye Old St. Martin, that ever were sold at Ornums, but of a different kind.

Secretly I would crack every match just below the head, and we would enjoy watching a customer
go to the match stand, and try to strike one. I learnt much bad language through listening to them.
The barmaid would think that the customer was heavy handed, and would try to strike one for him,
but with no better result. I will not waste time with further jokes, except those that relate to individu-
als.

BERTIE BRETMA. Bretma and myself are the best of friends, so I know he will not mind me re-
lating a joke that nearly ended in a tragedy. Bretma’s discomforture was caused through the conniv-
ance of the barmaid, and his eagerness to learn. For the benefit of those who do not know the
“Funnel Trick” I will explain it. A funnel is poked through the waistcoat and down the top of the
trousers to keep it steady and upright. A sixpence is placed on the forehead, and the performer
counts five, and then tilting the head forward quickly, must drop the sixpence into the funnel. Well,
the person who performs the trick to catch the unwary, has always got to take a certain amount of
risk as will be readily seem later on.

Well, we were about 7 strong in the St. Martin, when the barmaid asked me quite quietly whether
the new gentleman had seen the funnel trick. Bretma was the new gentleman — to her. “Oh, yes; he
is a very clever conjurer, and would be sure to know it.” Bretma fell right into the trap, so easily in
fact that I was afraid I was the one going to be caught. The barmaid quickly passed the funnel over,
and I explained the trick to Bretma, whilst the remainder of the company also got interested. I
watched Bretma’s eyes keenly, and came to the conclusion that he did not know the trick. If I fell,
then it would be through one of the others. So I chanced it. I fixed the funnel, put the sixpence on my
forehead, counted five very steadily, and then quickly tilted my head forward, and dropped the six-
pence into the funnel. Bretma couldn’t get the funnel away from me quick enough to show me he
could do it. Hie tucked it into the top of his trousers, put the sixpence on his forehead, and in went
four glasses of beer into the funnel while his eyes were looking at the ceiling. He never counted one,
let alone five; and he never dropped the sixpence into the funnel; but he flung the funnel away,
picked up a heavy stool, and would have dented my hat something awful had not someone quickly
put a restraining hand upon his arm. Then he saw the fear in the barmaid’s face at the turn events had
taken. She had aided and abetted, but the funnel was so quickly recovered and returned that her
anxiety was soon relieved, and she was no longer in the joke. Then Bretma saw the humour of the
situation — as well as a man could who had four glasses of beer running loose in his trousers, and
who left his “Man Friday” imprint wherever he walked.

24

In working that catch, I have never once been hoist with my own petard, as the saying generally
goes, but which is incorrect in this case, and might be altered to doused with my own douche.

Bretma has been present at many of our escapades, and the following is a fair sample. G. W. Hunter
had invited me to the New Cross Empire to see him give a Magical Act. I took Bretma, and the part
of the show we liked most was where Hunter waltzed with his lady partner. When we left the Or-
chestra Stalls, we went straight to another one, and had Coffee. Somehow we seemed a little glum,
for the whole night’s entertainment had been disappointing, so it was a real treat when a bluff
bounced up with a lady and wanted everyone to make way for him. He wore a monocle, spoke af-
fectedly and drawled his speech some what. Now, in politics I lean towards Conservatism, so do not
think I am a Socialist or an advocate of Class hatred. I mention this to prevent any misunderstand-
ing. At the same time I detest a bluff. Well, this one at the Coffee Stall pushed his way in, and spoke
as follows:- “I say; what have you? My dear; will you have Coffee, or Tea. I daresay it will be quite
all right, eh, what. Have something to eat, eh, what; yes do. Some bread and butter, and eggs.” His
talk was offensive. Well, I threw half crown on the counter, and pointing to the basket of eggs, told
the proprietor they were mine. He saw the joke instantly, counted the eggs, and gave me a copper or
two change. Then the bluff started to order coffee, eggs, and bread and butter. “Sorry, no eggs; sir.”
“Eh what; no eggs. Basketful.” “They are sold to this gentleman.” “But he cannot eat all those.”
“Nothing to do with me what he can eat, Sir.”

Then I started. I took the basket up, and offered it to Bretma. Then I held it towards the flotsam and
jetsam that is to be found around a Coffee Stall. The action was magnetic. Up they came and helped
themselves. The “bluff”, his lady, Bretma, and I were surrounded by some of the scum of New
Cross. The Proprietor also put up many free cups of tea, and slices of bread and butter. Then I
started to gag. “Pleasant little party, Colonel.” But he would have none of it. He was trying his hard-
est to get away from filthy street women and mouchers. Once you give anything to that class, they
always pester for more, and their numbers increased every minute. The bluff pushed his way out,
and we did the same. Bretma did not like it, but grinned all the while; then we quickly boarded a car
and made for home.

THE MONTPELIER. Garland and I were working at Ashtead one January Saturday afternoon,
and be expressed the wish to see a Pantomime. It was getting late by the time we had packed, and it
was impossible to get to London in time to procure seats. Yet I pulled the cloth off of a table, wound
it round my waist, did a short dance, and said “I am the good Fairy. Your wish shall be fulfilled.”
“How?” “You shall see.” Now, at the Montpelier, Walworth, they were running a Variety Show
from 8 o’clock to 9:30. Then they had a Pantomime up to 11 o’clock. Garland did not know the
place, and wondered wherever I was taking him after we left Waterloo. I had the run of the place,
but to impress Garland I had both cards sent in, and the Manager — DeWing — came out to greet
us. I have no wish to run the place down, but it was almost a free and easy at that time. Hardly any
artiste appearing was paid, but the audience — though common — was well-behaved. Garland’s
overcoat alone would have paid for at least the next best 100 overcoats in the Hall. His silk hat was a
crown of glory in “Wallworf.” Was he uncomfortable? Not a little bit; for he had had experience of
Plumstead and Woolwich. Personally I was quite at home in the place, for I had taken many conjur-
ers there to get actual practise, and was consequently an asset to the Management.

25

In those days “Pros.” had special privileges at the Bar: Whisky was twopence. Beer from a penny
up. Imagine the commotion when Garland threw a sovereign on the Bar for the benefit of all and
sundry.

I explained our mission to DeWing, and it amused him immensely. Then he whispered:- “Would
you like the Box? I can soon turn them out. The ”them" hap-pened to be the occupants; but we pre-
ferred seats in the Stalls (?) ever under the watchful eye of the Chairman, (the husband of Alice Car-
ney) and the waiter. The latter seemed to have an idea that Garland would fade away if he got dry.
We saw the last of the turns, and then the Pantomime — which was thickened up with local children
as the Ballet. It was quite good under the conditions, and Garland beamed on everyone. After the
show, Garland was introduced to everyone who was anything at all, from the Proprietor down to the
door-keeper; and when we eventually drove away to the Playgoers Club, Clement’s Inn, he said:- I
wanted to see a Pantomime, and I’ve seen a good one. Also I cannot remember ever being so popu-
lar; and do you know I’ve saved money. Yes, I should have spent more had I not come with you."

We had supper at the Club, and he suggested Billiards. Well my youth was not mis-spent conse-
quently I am a very poor fist with a cue. The few members present knew Garland well, but did not
happen to know me and they were highly amused at some of my strokes, until by sheer luck I exe-
cuted a marvelous screw back shot. Then the room suddenly became very quiet, and one member
called Garland on one side, and whispered to him:- “You will owe yourself something in a minute.”
which was a polite way of informing him that he was playing with a sharper.

Wm. J. HILLIER was one of the first of the American invaders, and was T. Nelson Downs’ agent
in this country for a considerable time. He did not seem to settle down at all nicely, and was glad to
get, back to the States. T. Nelson Downs seemed to be very reserved, and very few of us can say we
got friendly with him. I had a little to do with him, but it was unpleasant, and uninteresting.

HARRY HOUDINI. This gentleman has much to thank the late Maurice Garland, and others, for
Mr. A. Roterberg wrote over from Chicago, and asked us to do all we could for Harry Houdini; and
we did. Houdini arranged to open at the Alhambra, and many readers will remember the method of
booking at that Theatre of Varieties in the old days. Carlton would for one. Well, Garland and my-
self got together our little clique, and we spread over the floor of the Alhambra. The top of the house
can always be left to follow, or look after itself. We had arranged beforehand, and were quite pre-
pared for any emergency. Well, Houdini made his appearance in silence, which we immediately
broke in a gentle manner, just to show someone knew the great Handcuff King. Then be gagged his
act, had some irons fitted, and was in and out of the cabinet much too quickly.

Little applause

followed, for what he had done was not quickly grasped by the audience. Another pair of irons fol-
lowed, and he freed himself again too quickly. Then we took the applause up in a fairly hearty man-
ner.

Harry was not at all comfy up to then, but when he left the irons, and went on to the wrist tying with,
a piece of tape he seemed to be more happy. When he removed his eoat, with his wrists still tied with
tape, the audience understood, and the genuine applause was fair. Then he worked the box with his
wife, and all was well. We went quite wild then, and Houdini’s success was assured. But never let
him think his handcuff started him in England. They didn’t. The audience was as cold as Christmas
until he got to the tape tying, and box trick. Then it was child’s play to lead them.

26

We gathered outside, and knowing Houdini would be busy with the Agents, decided not to go round
to the dressing room, but went to the Leicester Lounge instead. Then we split up, and those of us
who were heading for Waterloo Station had a curious experience going down Villier Street. A black
cat would follow us. We were walking fairly quick, but it kept up with us. Then I picked it up, and
took it to the coffee stall that used to stand at the bottom of the wooden steps that led up Hungerford
Bridge. There I stood it a saucerful of milk. The cat was quite contented, and the boys asked me
what I was going to do with it. “Give it to Harry houdini tomorrow morning.” But the boys started a
rough house, and the cat decided to leave us.

Houdini has had many presentations, but he little knew what his first one in England should have
been.

Mr. BRADLEY ALEXANDER. This gentleman was conjurer, and exceedingly particular

a very convincing in emphasizing the genuinneness of his moves. I often recall him because of a
certain remark he once made to me. “It does not pay to be rude, or offend anyone. The office boy of
to-day may be the Manager of tomorrow.”

HORACE GOLDIN. Goldin came over to England, and worked an exceedingly short engagement
at the Palace when Morton was chief. His idea was to show his act, for it was sure that it would book
itself. Morton would have kept him on right away, but he had to return immediately to America to
fill contracts there. When he returned here he stayed for a considerable time. Alfred Butt was sec-
ond in command, and when Morton died he became chief at the Palace, but I do not think Goldin
ever got booked under his regime.

HENRI BAKER. Harry Baker lost no time one Tuesday morning in calling at the office. He ex-
plained Goldin had worked a trick the previous evening, (Goldin’s opening night on one of his re-
turns) and he was not sure he had got it. Would we go together? We went the same evening, and
after witnessing the trick, I told him if be cared to call in three days he could have a copy of it. I
ground two pudding basins, and went to Betts in Long Acre — a skilled manipulator of glass, and
one of the few men who really knows his business — and he soon cut me a glass disc with a tongue
or lug. It worked, and Harry Baker was the first Englishman to work the rice bowls. Then I put the
trick on the market for about five shillings, and it resulted in a very disagreeable scene being en-
acted in the office.

It appears that Chevalier Thorn was over from Germany, and had bought the Rice Bowls from
Goldin. What he paid for them can be guessed after reading the following. He came in the Office in
a very excited state (accompanied by Goldin) and asked to see the bowls. I showed them, and he
said:- “These vill not vork.” I wanted to say “Yes, no; ain’t it,” but instead I asked him why they
would not work. He said they were not made right. I offered to work them, and he offered a bet of a
sovereign they would not work. I took him on, and asked Mr. Munro if he would hold the stakes. He
readily agreed, but Thorn did not put his money down, pleading an appointment. “I vill come back;
and ten I vill tell you someting.” I laughed, and said: “Yes; and I will tell you something before you
come back; and that is you are afraid to put your money down.” He bubbled with rage, so I told him
where he could go when he left the office, but that was quite immaterial.

27

To our surprise they were soon back, bringing John Nobel with them. The German was having
something made by Nobel, and he brought him in to prove that he really did have an appointment.
Then he threatened personal violence. He promised to knock my teeth down my throat. “You vill
vear a silver blate in you mouth for the rest of you life.” That was enough. I made immediately for
the partition door, and opened it to get at him, but Mr. Munro stopped me. He wanted no trouble in
the office. I was quite fit then, and I knew the Continental style of fighting, and what to expect. They
might hug, kick, or use their teeth; but I was quite able to rough it. So I had to remain dissatisfied at
the counter, and just jeer at him. Goldin wanted to whisper something to me, but he must have
thought me soft, if he expected me to deliberately put my head into chancery over a narrow counter.
Goldin was told to mind his own business, which he did. I laughed and jeered at Thorn until I
thought he would have had a fit. Had he touched me then Munro could not have stopped me; but as
he regarded me more as a son at that time, I obeyed his wishes. When Thorn could not speak for
rage, he departed. He never turned up again.

Returning to Harry Baker. I considered him the most happy man on earth. He had an infectious
smile, and could hold an audience that was intent on giving any and every turn the bird. I will relate
just one experience with him.

It must have been about 9 o’clock in the morning when he hurriedly popped in for some odds and
ends. He was starting a nice run of bookings, and suggested we should go over the way to celebrate
it. We did. The girlie served us, and we stood talking. Then the door opened and a gentleman
walked in. Baker turned his head quickly, then nudged me, but never looked again. I was at a loss to
understand, but awaited events. The stranger called for a small Bass, and before it was poured out
Baker started to fondle his own glass. Then, when the stranger reached for his drink, Harry Baker
put his glass to his lips and tattled it between his teeth whilst he drank. The result was instantaneous.
When the stranger saw Baker’s hand trembling violently, he shuddered, and ejaculate:- “My God,”
and rushed out of the bar. Then Baker explained to me that he could always tell if a man was suffer-
ing from alcoholic poisoning, administered the night before; and his nervy condition made the
drinking of a “livener” more pain than pleasure. Consequently when he saw another “horrible ex-
ample” at the same time, it generally proved too much for him. “And the prize, laddie, is an un-
touched Sparkling Bass — ever so much better than our cheap twopenny Bitter. Here’s luck.” Then
the Bass and Bitter joined company.

HOWARD THURSTON. When this gentleman came to England he fascinated us with his card
work, and I should say more people copied his act than any other conjurer’s act. Very few conjurers
copied it, for they had acts of their own, but it bought the outsider in. We had a very bad time just
then, for all we could sell was packs of cards and fine silk thread, with an occasional tin of wax.

When Thurston bought his book out, he called at the Office, and showed Garland and myself the
various moves. He was a delightful man to know and we wish he would visit England once again.

When the Card Act died, he was preparing a large Illusion Show, and was fixed up at the Old
Princes Theatre in Oxford Street. I called on him there to take him a few things we had made for
him, and when I was on the stage it recalled the old times when the Theatre was open and popular.
The Great Pink Pearl was played there when I was a boy, and it seemed to draw all London. Talking
of Theatres, it does not seem so very long ago when I watched Charles Warner in “Drink” at the

28

Surrey Theatre. Also the popular Mrs. Bennett who was the leading lady in Conquests Stock Co.
which played “The Dark Secret,” and other startling Melodramas. Those were the days when there
were no backs to the seats, and the front rows were padded (?) with one layer of leather. The audi-
ence brought in gallon stone jars of beer, ate fried fish and chips out of paper, and cracked (and
sucked) crabs whilst the performance was in progress. We have indeed improved since then.

BIJOU THEATRE. I was a very little boy when I went to this Theatre in Great Dover Street. I was
born not far away. It was built mostly of wood, and later when it caught fire it was a terrific sight.
Had there been a performance at the time, it would have proved a veritable death trap.

I have to thank the Old Vic in the Waterloo Road for many pleasant hours. On Saturday night they
ran a Variety show. On Tuesday they had a Penny Science Lecture. That does not sound very star-
tling, but it was. Miss Cons who managed all the details used to get the greatest Lecturers to lecture
for nothing, and the seat was a penny. I can think of nothing that compared with this wonderful
value for so small an outlay. As a student at the college next door, I was allowed to have a seat in the
stalls for nothing. What, wonderful lectures I have heard, and world famed men I have listened to in
that dowdy old Theatre. At the time I speak of a Mr. Dove conducted the band there, but later he
wielded the baton at the Coliseum. Can you imagine going into a poorly lit Theatre, and watch the
Drummer tune his drums. The dear old fellow released the strain on them every night, and tightened
them up just before the performance. Then the stage manager would walk across the stage with a
piece of lighted paper, and light the footlights. Away would go the band, and play three selections.
Then the Chairman would introduce the Lecturer, and as he was always the best informed man on
the subject the introduction was of interest. Then came the Lecture — always wonderful lectures,
for I was young and had much to learn. Then the Band would play again, and three variety turns
completed the evening entertainment. Toni Basset, Charles Coburn, Jolly John Nash, and Millie
Banks, are some artistes whose names I can still remember out of the many hundreds who have ap-
peared there. Conjurers (good bad and indifferent) were frequently on the bill, and came in for an
unusual amount of observation on my part.

HARRY KELLAR. Harry Kellar was a caller at No. 4 when he visited England on his last trip. He
had retired from the business. I was in charge at the time, and had a very pleasant couple of hours
chatting with the genial Magician. He imparted quite a fair amount of information, and told me
much about his act and his tours through the States. One thing he explained was an invisible hinge,
and as Selbit called just then he also got interested. Imagine a climate where a trap had to be made of
16 ply wood before it would cease to warp and divulge itself. Harry Kellar was full of reminis-
cences, and I was sorry when he had to leave.

Writing of Harry Kellar reminds me that all great men are mostly named Harry. We have Harry
Lauder, Harry Champion, and other Harrys. All great.

TREWEY. At Edison House was a young man named Marins Brossa. He is now with the Wood-
Milne Co. He was a personal friend of Trewey, and had spent much time with him in France.
Trewey had given him very many of his odd props, and when Brossa knew I juggled and worked
magic, he passed some over to me. They were all in good and workable condition, but the prize was
the felt rim for Chapeaugraphy. It was a beautiful piece of felt, and it could be thrown into shape
with the utmost ease. Alas it met the fate of so many books and umbrellas. I helped a conjurer out of

29

a hole, and he was so pleased with the rim that he kept it, and if he still cares to call on me, I shall be
pleased to tell him what I think of him.

I met Trewey later, and saw his show at the Canterbury. His Shadowgraphy was marvellous. He sat
behind the sheet when he worked, but the sheet was purposely raised quite a distance from the floor.
This enabled the majority of the folks to see his hands as well as the shadow. His great effect was
two clowns driving a donkey cart. We have to day two masters of the Art of Shadowgraphy in Louis
Nikola, and Edward Victor; but if I had to say what I considered the best thing I have ever seen done
in shadow work, I should have no hesitation in saying:- “Trewey’s two clowns with donkey and
cart.”

MONSIEUR C. DE VERE, (Charles Williams.) Everyone in the world of magic knows C. De
Vere. He must be round about the 80 year mark, and when we meet he calls me “Boy.” Well I am a
boy compared with him, for he had done about 30 years before I made my first squeal. He has enter-
tained me for many evenings (and I may as well add mornings and afternoons, and be done with it)
with his experiences, and his quiet voice — which often trails away into a whisper is very fascinat-
ing, for it converts many an ordinary story into a weird experience.

LOUIS HOFFMANN. (Angelo Lewis.) Just how long ago it is since I first met Hoffmann I do not
know, but it was in the early days of No. 4. and he must have been between 50 and 60 years of age.
Youth is apt to be impetuous, and I had expected to meet a gentleman who would make us all look
small when it came to real sleight-of-hand manipulations, but it was quite the reverse. He told me
that in his younger days he had worked tricks, but not sleight-of-hand, and just then be admitted be-
ing behind the times when it came to card and coin manipulation, or expert moves with billiards
balls. Real digital dexterity had left him standing quite still, and his knowledge of it was almost nil.
He was very shaky at the time, but insisted on cutting paper and cardboard patterns to make quite
sure I had grasped his ideas. It was like talking to a person that stutters — they will not (or cannot)
let you help them out. I manipulated a few articles at his request, but the new era in Magic was not to
his liking.

I do not think it is generally known that Hoffmann (the writer who arranged the conjurers Bible —
“Modern Magic” — and incidentally interested more folks in Magic than any other person con-
nected with the Art) is indebted to Monsieur C. De Vere for being in the position to do so.
Hoffrnann was a journalist when De Vere was a maker and dealer in magical apparatus. They got
friendly, and Hoffmann used to call at De Vere’s house or lodging (somewhere around Harrington
Square or Mornington Crescent) and he took shorthand notes all the while De Vere explained the
different pieces of apparatus and the method of working same. Hoffmann was doing in those days
what every journalist is doing in these, and that is looking for copy. As a matter of fact, Hoffmann
started writing against the interests of Magic. He exposed tricks in papers not solely written for the
benefit of Magicians.

BLANDS, HIAMS, THEOBALDS, and MILLIKIN & LAWLEY were noted firms when we
started to dabble in Magic. Bland was absorbed by Messrs Hamleys, and the other firms faded
away. It would take too long, and be rather uninteresting, to detail the many men and few women
who made apparatus for the depots. John Brown, the flower maker, was the most notorious. He was
a good fellow, but age will beat us all — if we live long enough; and he got left farther behind each

30

year he lived. I think every Depot did what they could for him, but flowers were not wanted every
day. He would often confide in me, and much of it would be really funny had he not taken it seri-
ously. “You know, Mr. Leat, they call me ”Father Christmas" You don’t, and I appreciate that fact. I
have worn whiskers all my life, and should feel out of place if I cut them off. It is very unkind of
them. Very."

About that time a Madame Gunter was also making flowers, and the office was always brightened
by the resplendent feathers she wore in her hat. They were not of the bijou variety.

Mr. Wm. GALLEY. This gentleman was Mr. Munros father-in-law, and there was little he liked
better than to come to No. 4, when Mr. Munro was away, and lend a hand. He was delightful com-
pany, and it was interesting to listen to him recall the old days, when the gentry drove in their car-
riage and pair, and paid at the toll gates. He had been coachman to a rich gentleman, for about 36
years, and was then pensioned off.

Mr. FRED WILKINSON. Fred
was a good looking boy when he
first came to No. 4. He was acting
at that time. He amused me by de-
scribing to we his first visit. “I had
your address somewhere, and ex-
pected to find a shop. I climbed the
stairs, and when I looked into the
room I thought I had made a mis-
take by coming into a wholesale
firm. Then you popped from be-
hind a desk, and after selling me
what I had asked for, you kept me
entertained for two solid hours and
sold me a lot of things I was never
likely to work. I even shook hands
with you when I left. Then the next
afternoon I called again. Why I do
not know. The same evening we
spent together as though we were
brothers. Funny experience.” Sel-
bit described him in The Wizard
as “Gentlemanly Fred Wilkinson”
and the only time he did not act up
to that standard was when he
joined the Army. Then his great
delight was to correct the grammar
of the Sergeant and others in
higher positions. He did it in such
a quiet manner that they hardly ap-
preciated the fact that he was lead-

31

ing them up the garden, and consequently causing quite a lot of merriment to those in the know. We
were a curious couple to be such staunch friends, and many were our escapades. Fred had wonder-
full keen sight, and it did not take us long to make use of it. We worked up a second-sight act for use
in congenial company, and reading the dates of coins was our speciality. We had many splendid
codes.

A SAMPLE. On looking back, it is difficult to pick out one real red letter day and night from an-
other but the following is a fair sample. One summer’s afternoon Fred Wilkinson, Garland and my-
self arranged to The Granville, Walham Green, to see Eugene Miska. We started off by having tea
in The Cabin, Picadilly; and were soon requested to refrain from throwing lumps of sugar over the
screen on to the Orchestra . After a little fun on the bus, we arrived at Walham Green. Miska was an
early turn, so we soon adjourned to the Bar. Garland immediately prepared to astonish the Barmaid
with a wonderful trick; and when her back was turned he slipped a decanter of Port under his coat.
His intention was to produce it under cover of a handkerchief, and the effect was great — for I had
seen him work it many times. Unfortunately the Barmaid saw by the aid of a mirror the decanter go
under his coat, and she immediately pressed the secret emergency push for the Manager. His ap-
pearance (accompanied by a policeman) was a great surprise, and the Barmaid accused Garland of
stealing. He looked very foolish when he took the decanter from under his coat. Explanations
sounded rather tame, but he was allowed to leave and, of course, we went with him.

As midnight approached our ways separated, Fred myself made for Wandsworth. He could not go
in on account of seeing a light, so we went for a stroll. We turned out one or two street lamps, and re-
moved the jets and sockets to examine their construction, and generally whiled away the time until a
“house to Let” board attracted our attention. After breaking the binding wire with our street door
key, we suddenly found ourselves crushed to the pavement with the board and pole on top of us.
Neither of us had stopped to consider the weight we were releasing. Our position was undignified,
but no real damage had befallen us. Having released the board, we had to do something with it, so
we struggled with it to a garden wall, and with a great effort managed to push it over. Crash. We had
no idea there was a greenhouse on the other side. When we stopped running, Fred decided to go
home; but I walked leisurely back to Charing Cross. I did not want to disturb any folks at home by
returning with the milk. I dozed in the office arm chair, and directly the mail arrived, I started busi-
ness as though nothing whatever had happened. Miska called, and explained that Garland had had a
slight altercation with a oloured man whilst going home on the District Railway.

I was pleased that the day was Saturday, for we could leave early, but Garland turned up, and that
started the ball rolling all over again. As we were crossing to the Saint, Garland took exception to a
couple of foreigners who seemed to be “nursing” a stranger to London. He spoke to them, and be-
fore I knew his intention, be plunked one squarely between the eyes. They hurried away, and we
went inside for a little light refreshment. Soon after the door was pushed ajar, and a Porter warned
us that they were returning with a Policeman. Now Garland was a big man, and very tall compared
with myself; yet he did one of the funniest things I have ever seen: He slipped off his stool, and hid
under one of the tables. In they trooped, and I was immediately pointed out as “one of them”. Mr
Policeman got busy: “Will you charge this man with assault?” The foreigner was excited, and his
broken English spluttered:- “Yes. No. It was the big man who struck me.” Now I tried not to. look,
but whilst all attention was directed to myself, there was Garland crawling on his hands and knees
towards the door. Maurice Garland, Society entertainer, crawling on a public house floor in the en-

32

deavour to defeat the ends of Justice. But the “cover” was not suficient. He was, seen; and everyone
seemed to cry at once “There he is.” Well, he was the first out of the door and they told me it was a
fine race whilst it lasted. Up Duke St. he went, and turned into “Casey Court”; then quickly to the
left along the Court where Burgess’s street hawkers supply shop is. Across Buckingham St. and
along the continuing Court he panted, but thought it best to retire into a convenient place on the left,
to the great disturbance of the other members of humanity. That was the end of the race. Then he put
on his best Society manners, explained to the Policeman that the foreigner had insulted him, and be
had lost his temper (the same as the Policeman would have done) and struck him. Whilst the expla-
nation was going on, Garland was pushing his card into the Policeman’s hands, and the card had
something metallic underneath. He impressed on the Policeman that be courted legal procedings,
and would be only too pleased if the foreigner would summons him. The Policeman transferred the
advice to the foreigner, but he was not at all keen on a summons. He wanted Garland arrested. “Ask
him for his address, Officer”, but the foreigner would not give it, and then the Policeman hunched
him out, and nearly run him in instead of Garland. Much more happened to complete “that perfect
day”, but I will let it go at the above.

PERCY HART. Fred Wilkinson introduced me to this gentleman, and his inclusion in our little cir-
cle made things livelier than ever. He was every inch a gentleman, but his humour was eccentric.
We were carrying a Gladstone Bag one evening, and he took it from us, ran up the steps of a house,
knocked heavily at the door, and then sat on the bag. A lady opened the door, and looked awfully
surprised when he looked up and whined:- “I’m driven from home.” That was all, for the lady shut
the door quickly. He repeated the performance at several other houses in the same road.

McLAUGHLIN ELECTRIC BELT CO. One day Fred returned from tour, and called with Percy
Hart; but as luck would have it I was too busy to go out with them. They were good looking fellows,
always perfectly groomed, and gave one the impression that they had just dropped out of a band
box. They wanted to settle a little bet they had made, and the idea was to go into McLaughlin’s Belt
shop (which was then situated on the first floor of 164 Strand) and keep trying on the belts for at
least an hour, and then come out without buying one. They found the Manager’s Office empty, so
went to a back room. This was occupied by young girls stitching Belts, and proved very much to
their liking. Then they learnt that there were some more work rooms on the next floor, so they went
on a voyage of discovery. Now I think the press cutting that I have before me can take the tale up. It
is headed:-

“AN EXTRA TURN.”

At Bow Street yesterday, Frederick Wilkinson, a variety artiste, of Cicada road,
Wandsworth Common, and Percy Hart, a variety agent, of Severus road, Clapham
Junction, both respectable-looking young fellows, were charged with attempting to
steal a flower vase, value 7s. 6d.

Sidney Leaver, a porter in the employ of the McLaughlin Electric Belt Co., 164,
Strand, said that on Friday, he saw the two prisoners on the staircase. They looked
into a room where a number of young women were at work, and then went down-
stairs. On the way Hart picked up a large vase, and after carrying it down a few
staIrs, he placed it on a landing and followed Wilkinson into the street. Witness fol-

33

lowed them, and asked Hart what he was doing in the building. He replied that he
wanted to consult Dr. McLaughlin, and at once agreed to accompany the witness
back to the consulting room. A few minutes later Wilkinson returned and they were
both given into custody. Mr. Harry Wilson, who defended, cross-examined with a
view to showing that Hart had placed the vase in front of the other prisoner for a lark.
When searched at the station, Wilkinson was found to be in possession of £6. or £7.
The other prisoner also had money upon him.

Detective-sergeant Stevens said he had made enquiries and found that the men both
bore excellent characters.

The magistrate, in discharging the accused, said he was satisfied that they had not
intended to steal the vase, but they had acted very foolishly.

Fred told me afterwards that the experience was awful. He was marched through the streets, never
thinking of paying for a cab. As the charge was theft, there was no bail. The drunk and disorderlies
kept him awake all night, and in the morning when he looked through the little grating, he saw the
Black Maria come into the yard. I always reckoned we were born under lucky stars, but just that
once Fred’s star was on strike.

Fred has now returned to his first love the legitimate; and is doing his part to help thrill the audi-
ences witnessing “Good Luck” at Drury Lane Theatre.

THE OLD LONDON CABBY. After dinner one evening, we hailed a hansom. Fred got in, and sat
down. Garland followed, and told the cabman:- “Waterloo.” Then he failed to turn round suffi-
ciently, with the consequence that he flopped on to the off-side step, and toppled over backwards
with his head dangling in the road. Without the flicker of an eyelid the cabman said:- “You are not
there yet. Sir.” I dodged round the back of the cab, and was surprised how funny Garland’s face
looked upside down.

PRAISE. Every now and again a Performer comes in for quite a lot of praise in one or the other of
The Magical Magazines, and in almost every, case he thoroughly deserves it; but whoever thinks of
praising the managers or proprietors of Magical Emporiums. Yet here we have the real helpful
brains in Magic. Amateur and Professional conjurers occasionaly produce a slightly original trick,
but all the best known effects, tricks, and Illusions originate from the Dealers, and their mechanics.
If anyone is inclined to argue that point, I think my friend Bertie Bretma will have no difficulty in
convincing them, for he has kept careful note of the origin of all really useful tricks and effects.

Where will you find a lady with a greater knowledge of Magic than Miss Potts, Manageress to
Messrs Hamley Bros. Ltd. Where is the conjurer who could talk Mr. Will Goldston to a standstill on
Magic. He could not be found. Gentlemen like Bernard Irving, Louis Davenport, Wilford Hutchin-
son, J. Meadows and other proprietors of Magical businesses get more real magical experience in a
week, than the average conjurer could get in a year. The very position is conducive to magical en-
lightenment which could not be obtained under other conditions. Theory has to take a back seat,
even though it is studied; and “doing” takes the place of “talk.”

34

MAGICAL SOCIETIES. Some conjurers think that because they belong to a certain Society they
are benefitting from the only brains in Magic that really count. But that is not my experience. My
opinion of Magical Societies is that they have done Magic more harm than good. They need not
have done, but that is beside the question. One Society started out with the object of elevating the
Art of Magic. I have yet to learn that Magic was ever in such a wretched condition that it needed ele-
vating; but that simply shows pomposity.

Now the first ambition of a Society is to possess a Library. The result is that one book on magic, or
one magazine will suffice for every member; and hundreds can read one book, in time, at no cost to
themselves (other than their subscription to the Society) and no benefit to the author of the book, or
the proprietor of the magazine.

Any conjurer has a perfect right to loan any book he thinks proper, but when a Society starts the Cir-
culating Library stunt with books referring to an Art which has but a limited number of followers,
then it is hardly “elevating magic” when it does so at the expense of the hardest workers for magic,
for all Magical Magazines are run at a loss (money or time,) and the profit on books is very uncer-
tain on account of the smallness of the sales.

Then we have the type of member whom we will call Mr. Clever Dick. A new trick is perfected by
one of the Dealers, and he rushes to buy one. Then straight up to the Society he goes, and shows it to
any member who cares to look at it. As a matter of fact, he oftimes insists on showing them. Two or
three hundred members see, or hear of, the method of working, just because Mr. Clever Dick wishes
to show off a little. Now, the trick may be quite good, but who wants it after it is common knowl-
edge by forced hawking of the idea. Then we have the member who is ever ready to instruct others
how to make makeshifts, and it would be exceedingly funny if the Societies did not consider him se-
riously. They evidently do encourage him, with the object, I suppose, of elevating the Art of Magic.

Then we have the member who never takes a fee. He is on ly too pleased to go anywhere and every-
where, and give show for nothing; but do not insult him by offering a fee. He does not wish to injure
the member who has to get his living by giving paid performances. Oh, no; if you wish to pay, then
go to a Conjurer who takes fees; but if you do not wish to pay, then he is only too pleased to give
shows. Then we have the member who trades. He is not a recognized dealer, and would he awfully
offended if you called him one, or even suggested he wanted the profit on the deal. Yet be pushes
certain lines, and wheedles orders out of the other members. Silk handkerchiefs to home-made illu-
sions can be purchased; and sometimes members holding responsible positions in a Society trade
quite openly, and even exhibit their wares on a table.

Then what have Societies done to prevent such men as Jaffa from exposing tricks. Jaffa has been ex-
posing large number of fundamental tricks on Music Hall stages for many years. Every time I hear
of him he reminds me of an orange, and his show gives me the pip. When folks ask what the Socie-
ties are doing, the answer seems to be a lemon.

Some Societies grade their members, and make rules for qualifying for same. Yet I know of one
particular case where they put a certain member up a step who had never even put one foot into the
Society’s Club Room, and who was only known by name to the great majority. Still, the promotion

35

went through all right, and maybe there was no reason why it should not; yet the qualifying rules
were not complied with, and which were rigidly enforced in other cases.

COVENT GARDEN QUALIFICATIONS. “Hi, Bill; just sort those, will yer? Put ther good’uns
in ther tray, ther specs in ther basket, and ther rotten’uns back in ther barrel.” Dr. WILSON. In re-
viewing my first book “Thoughtful Magic” in the September issue of The Sphinx, Dr. Wilson
writes:- “the most ironical expressions of feeling towards a magical society that has ever appeared
in a magic book.... should have been omitted.” Quite so Dr. Wilson is as right as right could be. (No-
tice how I prefer Gilbertian extracts in preference to those of the Bellocian mivvy.) Had the Council
of the Magic Circle never made their unfounded claim, it COULD NOT have been recorded. Had
they admitted their mistake it WOULD NOT have been broadcast. To make unfounded accusa-
tions, and then ignore them, is not exactly elevating the Art of Magic. If the Council of the Magic
Circle interfere unnecessarily in business that is of no concern of theirs, then I, and others will not
hesitate to draw attention to their methods.

No-one is going to take a liberty, and get away with it.

I have no space to spare in this book, but I hope to have my next book ready in a month or two, and
will possibly return to the subject, and give details of facts. I know it does not make nice reading,
but let us hope that some good accrues from its publication.

CARD TRICKS. To be perfectly candid, I loathe them. Apart from the fact that a person who is
skilled in the manipulation of cards is always suspect, I know of no other kind of conjuring that is
guaranteed to bore an audience quite stiff. The average book or magazine consists of over 50 per
cent card tricks, which are skipped by most readers for they always refer to the same old effects. The
slightly altered ways of working makes no difference to the audience. It is just the same old trick to
them.

Those who play the fool’s game of conjuring to conjurers, do so for their own amusement, and the
average programme of a Magical Society consists of card tricks; but when one comes to the real
business of conjuring to an audience, then the card performer is up against it, and bores awfully with
his manipulations of the pack, which only a few can see.

Let us see how the card conjurer conjures:- Ladies and Gentlemen. With your very kind permission
I shall have much pleasure in performing a few tricks with a pack of cards. I have here an ordinary
unopened pack of cards, which I purchased on my way here from Messrs Salmon & Fish, I mean,
Messrs Salmon & Gluckstein. Will some gentleman kindly shuffle this pack. Thank you. Now will
a lady kindly remove the four Kings. Now will another gentleman kindly shuffle the pack again,
just to prove I have no confederates. You, Madam, will you kindly hand the four Kings round to
four other ladies. Thank you. Now will a young man kindly come upon the platform. Thank you.
Have you an empty pocket? Right. Put all the odds and ends on that chair. Ladies and Gentlemen,
the young man has now a perfectly empty pocket. Now will you kindly go down, and get the pack of
cards from the gentleman who has been shuffling it. You have been shuffling it, haven’t you, Sir?
(Assistant goes down, and returns with pack.) Now will you kindly remove the four Jacks. Don’t let
me see them, but put them in your empty pocket. Thank you. Now will you kindly go down amongst
the audience, and let someone examine the pack to be quite sure the Jacks are really out of the pack.

36

You, Madam, have distributed the four Kings? Thank you. Now will you collect them again. Thank
you. Now whilst my assistant is having the pack of cards examined, I would like three gentlemen to
come upon the stage and assist me in the completion of my experiment. Thank you. Thank you. Oh;
and thank you. My assistant, now having had the pack thoroughly examined, will pass it along to
you so that you can inspect it. You see, it is just an ordinary pack, of cards minus the Jacks and
Kings. Thank you. You also examine it, Sir; — and you. Thank you. Now I would like my assistant
who has the four Jacks in his breast pocket, to remove the four sevens, and you three gentlemen will
see that he takes no other cards. Are you perfectly satisfied? Thank you. (Note how hard the con-
jurer is conjuring now.) Now, Sir; will you kindly remove the four Aces. Thank you. Will you
kindly place them in a row upon the table. Thank you. Just shuffle them up a little. Thank you. (By
this time the performer is mopping his brow through sheer hard work.) Kindly give the pack to the
next gentleman. Thank you. Now you, Sir, will you remove the four Queens. Thank you. Now place
them one on top of each Ace, in any order you like. Why I tell you that is because it does not matter.
Thank you. (Performer is now busy turning up his sleeves, and some of the audience are nudging
their next seat neighbours to awaken them, thinking he is going to do something; but it is a false
alarm.) Now my assistant who has the four Kings in his pocket, — um eh, WHAT? Four Jacks. Oh,
yes. Now my assistant who has the four Jacks in his pocket will take the remainder of the pack and
have it shuffled by an independent member of the audience. Thank you. (To third gentleman.) Now
that the pack has been fairly shuffled, will you, Sir, remove the four “fives.” Thank you. Now Sir;
will you place one five under each packet on the table. Thank you. Now, Gentlemen. I wish each of
you to select a packet. Just keep your finger on the packet you select. Now, my assistant will pick up
the remaining three cards. These I will request him to give to the second gentleman. Pick up your
three cards, Sir; and shuffle the two lots together. Will the first gentleman pick his three cards up,
aud hand them to the third gentleman. Thank you. Now the second gentleman will kindly hand his
six cards to the third gentleman to shuffle with those he has. Whilst he is shuffling them, my assis-
tant will collect the four Kings from the lady who has been so kind in holding them, and he will then
thoroughly shuffle them with the cards he will remove from his breast pocket. Now I would like a
gentleman who has not already assisted me to come upon the stage, and collect all the cards together
in one heap. Thank you ever so much. Now will you kindly shuffle them. THAT Ladies & Gentle-
men is the conclusion of the experiment; for I think you will now find that all the selected cards have
returned to the pack. Thank you, thank you, thank you. (Collapse of performer, for there is nothing
so trying as “performing” to an audience.) Yes, I loathe cards. Quantity is seldom quality.

FOUNDER OF THE MAGIC CIRCLE. It will surprise many when I say that Mr. George
McKenzie Munro was the actual Founder of the Magic Circle Society. Now read on, and I will
prove it. After the sudden demise of the First Society of Magicians, we lost all interest in the sub-
ject. Then one or two conjurers started talking about forming a Society, and they approached Mr.
Munro; but as he was uninterested he was not keen in taking up a position. One of them was a Mr.
Neil Weaver, and he then explained that it would be useless to go on without Mr. Munro’s help. “In
what way do you wish me to help?” “Well, we thought you would give us the names and addresses
of all the conjurers you know, and then the battle is more than half fought.” Munro then handed to
Mr. Neil Weaver our greatest possession:- the address book, and by its aid the Magic Circle was
formed.

As is well known, after the first flourish the Society started to fade away, and then Mr. Henry Donn
came to the rescue, and by sheer hard work the Society was kept together. The Magic Circle would

37

never have been in existence to-day had it not been for Mr. Munro’s in-itial help, and later Mr.
Donn’s aid. These are the little things that should not be forgotten, even when a man ceases to be a
prominent figure in the World of Magic; Out of sight — out of mind, and damnably quick forgotten.

JOHN WARREN. One day we received a rather curious letter from Mr. John Warren. He com-
plained bitterly about certain things, and the letter intimated that he was calling that day. My worry
was trying to think how we had upset him. Later the door was pushed open, and there stood Johnny
with his face wreathed in smiles — the amiable and chummy John Warren I had always known. We
shook hands, and the first thing he did was to pass over a cheque in full settlement of all outstanding
items. This nearly surprised me, for part of the correspondence led me to understand that some
items would be disputed. we went with the business as happily as could, be, and then my curiosity
could be contained no longer, and I asked:- “Why did YOU write that nasty letter?” “Nasty letter?
Oh laddie, I must tell you. Last night one of my tables fell over. That didn’t worry me, for I skipped
that part, and went on to my big hat load. Something went wrong with that. Still I did not worry, for I
knew I could hang out time with Marmaduke; but I had not been working him more than a minute
when his eyes broke away, and fell down on to the jaw movement. Imagine it. A vent head with dark
caverns for eyes, and a noise like marbles rattling every, time the mouth opened. My boy who could
write a nice letter after all that. Somebody had to have it it.” I do not wish to tell Warren’s jokes, but
one always brings a smile. When he was a young blood, he fancied gold buttons down his waistcoat;
and whilst having a cigarette outside a Gentleman’s Cloak Room at the Holborn Resturant, he was
presented with twopence by a gentleman who mistook the buttons for brass. He followed the gentle-
man down the passage, thanking him profusely; in fact, so much that the gentleman sought the
Manager and reported Warren for insolence. But Warren was not there when the Manager appeared
on the scene, and explained that no attendant had brass buttons on his waistcoat. A little later Mar-
maduke from the stage started to thank the gentleman for his generosity to “the guvenor” (J.W.),
and the witty remarks became so pointed that he had to leave the Hall, but this time NOT to fetch the
manager.

THE SAVAGE CLUB. We got booked for this exclusive Club one evening. Mr. Munro worked
the Phonograph, and I gave my picture show. It was a sedate success.

LUTON. Then my next show took me to Luton. Oh, what a difference. I had been booked by Teddy
Hyde for the Plait Hall, and had never been to Luton before. When the train entered the station, the
doors were pulled open, and a crowd of girls seized me and my props. The male artistes numbered
6, and the girls numbered about 90. The girls watched the posters for shows, and met the males.
There are no spare men in Luton. I was never so well off in my life. One on each arm, many in front,
many behind, and the rest carrying my props. When I protested about the latter, they carried me.
They were up to any durned mischief for fun and relaxation. Of course they eventually formed part
of the audience, and some of their repartee to our patter was excruciatingly funny. I worked Luton
very many times, and got quite accustomed to being mothered by so many sisters, cousins and
aunts. I recommend Luton for a lonely, bashful young man.

“THE NEW PAGE.” When John Maskelyne brought out this Illusion, he offered a fairly large
sum of money for a title; but he refused to consider Mr. G. Gorden Powell’s brilliant appellation -
“The Heavenly Twins.”

38

“CABBY.” One of our customers at No. 4, was a Cabman ‘by profession’ and an exceedingly smart
perforrper in the Magic Art. Like many others, he had to confide in me, and I have kept his confi-
dence so far; but now listen to the crash, for I am going to divulge it.

“There is a fair living to be made at my game, but I shall never be able to save up for a £300 act, and
that is what I want to come and plank down on your counter. So all the time I am out, I am looking
for a chance to have a safe but severe accident, and claim a £1000 damages. I know a smart Lawyer,
and I would settle quick on £500 clear.” The pity was he meant every word he said, for Magic had
got him (like the rest of us) for keeps. He was in and out for quite a time after he confided in me, and
then his visits stopped suddenly. I wondered if he had ventured, and made too sure of it. He must
have done. He was that kind of man.

“SNUFFY.” Then there was a Doctor who was a magical enthusiast, who took snuff continuously.
At that time I think snuff taking was the only vice I had not got; so you can imagine what happened
when we got interested over a little fake across our 12 inch wide counter. I used to sneeze, cry, and
cough until I looked like a flu victim in the very last stage; and he would blandly inform me that I
was in for a cold. He was so hardened to snuff that he could not imagine stray particles having any
effect on me.

CHUNG LING SOO. Dear old Robinson made friends, and I was one of them. To tell the truth, he
wanted me. He made me many tempting offers, but I was content to remain with Munro. Even when
I left Munro he sent for me; but I intended to be a free lance and would not come to any arrangement
with him. “You will be second to me only. I will put you above everyone in my Company. That
should suit you. If you do not like touring, then you can stay in my workshop. Come in, Leat; I’ll
give you a good time.” But no. The moment I left Edison Co., I had my freedom. Mr. Munro used to
openly say that his one regret was that I was not his son; so one can easily understand our happy re-
lations towards each other. When I left him I wanted greater freedom, and to work for a wage or sal-
ary was not my idea of it.

I will tell a story of Soo that is not generally known.

GEORGE WEBB. As a young man I had a friend named George Webb, and once he wanted a seri-
ous chat. “This is the idea, Harry. I am rather keen on getting about a bit. You know I can play the
Piano, but I want to learn to play an instrument that is always sought after.” Without hesitation I
named the Oboe; but more as a joke than anything else, for the Oboe takes very many years to learn
to blow, and many more to manipulate correctly. When you listen to an Oboe player you are listen-
ing to a genius — a man who has taken infinite pains to learn to play. (I would like to write about the
effects of certain instruments on the mind and constitution; but this is not the time or place.) Well,
George took me seriously, and I introduced him to George Howarth, who did the needful for a start.
Soon Webb was playing in public, and eventually kept to Orchestral work. The years rolled on, and
he was at the Chiswick Empire. He was happy and comfortable there, until one Matinee he rushed
up the stairs to the dressing room belonging to the Orchestra, and fell over a chair carelessly left by
someone in the passage. He looked at the nearest door, and it was labelled Mrs. Soo. He opened the
door, and pushed the chair in, explaining the danger of breaking the rule that nothing must be left on
the stairs or in the passages. Whether Mrs. Soo resented the information or not, I do not know, but
Soo refused to start the Matinee until the musician was brought forward, made to apologize, and

39

then sacked right away. Webb was brought forward, and the moment he heard Chung speak, he
said:- “Oh, then you are not a Chinaman, after all.” Chung got cross and threatened to punch Webb
on the nose. He was foolish, had he known it, but we will let that pass. Webb had nothing to apolo-
gise for, and stood his ground. Then Chung called on the Manager to sack Webb. This the Manager
had not the authority to do — that right being invested in the Conductor of the Orchestra. The Con-
ductor expressed his willingness to dismiss Webb that very second, provided Ching would replace
him, viz:- get as good an Oboe player to take his place right away, for the Conductor refused to con-
duct the Orchestra minus an Oboe. Everybody was talking at once, and the audience was getting
restless, when the Manager explained to Soo that he was laying himself open to a prosecution for
nonfulfilment of his contract. Webb went back to his seat, and Soo went on with his show. Soo still
pressed for his dismissal, but was not successful. All this happened a year or two before Soo was
shot, and he used to look at me very old fashioned when I chatted to him about his Band parts; for
HE never told the story of the Oboe player. “Soo. If there is one instrument you like more than an-
other it is the Oboe.” I’m not saying I like the Oboe." “Oh, you should; for it is lovely to punch Oboe
player’s noses.” “Whatcher mean?” I meant nothing. Then he would screw his eyes up Chinaman
fashion, and look steadily at me. He suspected, but hoped I did not know. It was an incident that did
not redound to his credit.

CARLTON. There are quite a number of stories Carlton does not tell in his book, and the following
is rather an exciting one. Late one night, Carlton was crossing Westminster Bridge with the con-
jurer who was doing the three one hour stunts. It would he unfair to mention his name, for he is still
with us, and doing his best. Carlton was ‘minding him,’ for he was in trouble, and was very dis-
tressed. When they got to St. Thomas’s Hospital, the conjurer determined to commit Suicide, and
ran down the double lot of stairs to the water. Carlton was quickly after him, but the nearer Carlton
got the further he went into the water. Now, Carlton had his living to get, and suit of clothes were
not exactly four a penny so he hurried out of the water and found a Policeman. The Policeman did
not seem to care a bit whether a man was drowning or not, for it was not on his beat. Anyhow, Carl-
ton made him come along. The conjurer was just finishing his prayers when they rounded him up,
and got him out.

Then the Policeman wanted to charge him with attempting to commit suicide, but Carlton saved
that by threatening to give evidence in regard to the slowness of his coming to the rescue. Then
Carlton never lost his grip, and saw him home. There others took charge, and all was well.

Carlton was not exactly afflicted with shyness in his early days. In a Midland town he stood in the
road, and when a tram came along he raised his hand. When the Car stopped he struck a match on it,
lit his cigarette, and then signalled the tram to go on.

He put me up to a stunt that caused a terrific lot of merriment. In all seriousness, I would go up to a
Policeman, and ask him if he could direct me to Phrase Street.

They had no book of streets in the old days, so would stop and think it out. To help them I would ex-
plain that I had been told that it was near Crase Road. The repetition of Phrase Street and Crase
Road, and then purposely muddling it by saying Crase Street and Phrase Road, caused no end of
fun; but you must keep quite serious all the time to save trouble.

40

As was my custom, I gathered the forces, and went over to the Canterbury Music Hall to give him a
send off when he first put on his comical card act. I believe his wage was £6 for the week. I wonder
how many times it has been multiplied since then.

By the way; Garland claimed to have started Carlton. Garland once kept a Cigar shop when Carlton
was a telegraph boy. He brought the wires re engagements, and Garland showed him tricks which
got him interested in magic.

SWANK MEMO. I am pleased to write that my Memo: skit on the “Can do it all” Pro, (and which
was reviewed to the extent of half a column in the Daily Express of 20th. April, 1915) has been cop-
ied by many. I take this opportunity to thank them for the compliment.

HAT COIL STOPS TRAFFIC. Also, many have claimed to be the chief actors in this incident,
but not until the exploit was common knowledge. My partner in that great commotion was a man
named Tommy Linden, (or Tom West) — a man whose daring was greater than his cleverness as a
conjurer. I was posting a letter at Charing Cross, when I pulled a hat coil out of my pocket. Tom pre-
tended to start it. Quickly seeing the possible humour, I dared him to pull it across the road.

“Yes; if you will hold it.” “Right; I will.” He took the end from the middle of the coil, and walked
straight across the road. The bus drivers pulled their horses up on their haunches, so they should not
run over the measuring tape, (as they thought) and the point policeman signalled like a lunatic to
stop all traffic. Up and down traffic was stopped, and the congestion was great. Then both Tommy
and I had got to the end of our daring when we stood one on each side of the Strand with a twiddly
strip of paper connecting us, and hundreds of people watching to see what we were going to do.
Tom let go, and walked straight on. I broke the coil off, put the wound part into my pocket, and then
jumped into the traffic to join Tommy well up the Strand. The point Policeman was in too great a
mess with the traffic to give chase; so it ended quite all right.

MISS LETTY LIND. When I read in the papers of this lady’s death, it recalled to my memory the
day I was sent to the Gaiety Theatre, with strict instructions not to come back to Edison House with-
out her. We returned in a handsom cab.

SIR CHARLES HAWTREY. This gentleman was a frequent visitor to No. 9 Duke Street, but not
from a magical point of view. His friend was above us.

BARCLAY GAMMON. On several occasions I had the pleasure of working with this gentleman,
and he was excellent company. One afternoon in the train, he pulled out his watch, unhooked it from
his chain, and pushed it into my hands. It was exceedingly heavy and before I had time to look at it,
he said:- “Give me thirty shillings for it.” “What is wrong with it? Has it got lead wheels; much too
heavy for tin; but it is nicely gold plated.” “Will you give me thirty shillings for it?” I grinned, and
shook my head. “All right then; the offer is off, and you have missed a golden opportunity. That
watch was a presentation, and cost over £50.” He told me the details. A great humorist.

SWAMI. At No. 4 Duke Street I was quite accustomed to being visited by plain clothes policemen.
Beneath us was a Letter Bureau, and it was difficult to keep out the fraudulent advertiser or user of
same. Hence the watchfulness of the Scotland Yard Officials. The moment they came in the office I

41

knew they were not really interested in Magic, but they were very interested in us until they were
satisfied we were running a legitimate business. Then one suggested I should keep an eye open for
him. I wasn’t really rude, but the offer was declined without thanks. Swami used the Letter Bureau
to get in touch with young girls; and the first time I saw her male companion I was awfully struck by
his resemblance to the pictures of our Lord. They were eventually arrested, and heavily sentenced.

ROBERT CRAWFORD. Only a Londoner knows how lonely a man can be in London. It is bad
enough on ordinary days, but Sunday is terrible. Yet one day in the year beats the band and that day
is Xmas Day.

“Bob” Crawford was our chief outside mechanic, and we were the best of friends. Well, one Christ-
mas dawned very cheerless for him from a sociable point of view, and he was cursing his luck, until
early in the afternoon he thought of crossing London and calling on me. He knew he was sure of a
welcome, it got dark soon after he started, and then almost every house showed signs of roaring
fires, plenty of light, jollity and happiness. The journey was a long one, but one he knew was worth
while. At last he got to No. 26, and found the house in darkness. It was the first and only Xmas I
have spent visiting. All around folks were singing and laughing; Pianos and other in struments were
vieing with each other to cheer people up; but there was just one man who was sad. He sat alone on
the garden coping and wiped the tears away with his handkerchief. He could not help crying.

Mons. C. LEBERT. I wonder how many remember this performer. I have in my possesion a very
pretty Japanese programme of a show I gave at the Windsor Liberal Club, (3rd. April, 1901) and my
reason for keeping it is that Lebert topped the other half of the programme. That was the last time
we met. Soon after he committed suicide.

JULIEN WYLIE is now world famed as a producer, but I have to smile when I think of the times
when I (and others) tried to entise him from the Palace Theatre. The first night of any Conjurer’s ap-
pearance would generally find him “glued to the Gallery door, by gum” and no amount of persua-
sion would get him to forsake his position de luxe — even for a glass of sparkling nectar.

PLACED UNDER ARREST. Although with increasing years I try to walk the straight but ex-
tremely narrow path, there are times when circumstances lead me into unexpected positions. When
I am tired of working, I take an early train to Leatherhead, and from there walk to the North Downs.
As is readily admitted, there is no finer scenery in England. Well, one morning I was trudging
along, when a motorist asked me in which direction I was going. I told him — Horsham. He was go-
ing that way, and would be pleased to have my company. We gave the motor a drink at the Windmill
Inn just outside of Dorking, and as it was exceedingly thirsty it took a long time. Then we continued
to Horsham. I may mention that the gentleman in whose car I was riding was the Editor of a well-
known journal connected with motors. Well, I talk a lot. Sometimes I may talk too much. It is a bad
habit, for it interferes with serious thinking. Anyhow, Mr. Editor did not want to lose me at Hor-
sham, and offered to drive me anywhere I fancied. I chose Portsmouth, and if any of my readers
know Portsmouth they will be aware that there is a very fine Town Hall there — far superior to Rei-
gate Town Hall, or the Battersea Palace. So at 7-30 p.m. we shook hands in front of the aforemen-
tioned Town Hall, and my new friend shot off at a terrific speed to over fifty miles along the South
Coast to get to his home at Worthing.

42

The first thing I did was to go to a Hotel and book a room; and afterwards called on Percy Naldrett.
He Was out on a visit, so I promised to be back at 10 o’clock and went out. Behind the Town Hall I
knew there were gardens, and I meant to rest on a seat until it got dark which would be about the
time to return. I found the gates, and brushed past several sailors and policemen. Then walking
some short distance, I sat down. When I awoke, it was dark; and I tried to find the gates of the Park,
but could not. It was the most curious Park I have ever been in. I tripped over railway lines, ran into
dark objects, walked down a cul de sac, and goodness knows what else. Then a voice said:- “Do you
know where you are going, Sir.” Thank God; here was someone I could ask the direction of the exit.
To my surprise, it turned out to be a very big policeman, and I was honestly pleased to see him; but
not for long because he asked me a question. “Do you know where you are?” “I have not the slight-
est idea.” You are in Portsmouth Dock Yard. You had better come with me to the office." “Righto.”
When we arrived at the Police Office, and he introduced me to one of the officers in charge. “I found
this gentleman walking down and then he mumbled something. After a slight pause the officer in-
formed me I was under arrest. I did not know whether to thank him or not, for it was the first time in
my life that I had got so far as the interior of a Police Office. Then he plied me with questions. What
was my business in Portsmouth? How did I get there? What was I going to do? Who was I? Who
was I go-ng to see? What was my business? How did I get in the Dock Yard? Did anyone bring me
in; and a hundred other questions. There was no occasion to lie in answering, so he could not catch
me tripping. Then he made a sign, and I was delightfully and thoroughly searched without being ex-
actly undressed. While this was going on, he told me that had the War been still on, I should have
been shot at dawn the next morning for being a spy, he was correct, but it did not sound nice. You
see, I am short and fat; and I could imagine my acquaintances saying (when they had heard I had
been shot) ”Ah, I always thought he was a German. Now that proves it." And I thought of my dear
old Dad (a Gloucestershire man,) and my mother (a Kentish woman of the old English stock named
Dorrell,) and then to be told that had I called at the Dock Yard a few months earlier I would have
been shot. It was too bad.

Well, the chief point under discussion was “how did you get in?” and I stuck to the answer:-
“Through the Gate; I am too fat to climb over the wall.” “Which Gate?” I did not know the gate so
could not tell him. He was perfectly helpless. To charge me would be confessing incompetence of
the guard at, one of the Gates, and bring the Authorities down on the sailors and police — who hap-
pened to be Metropolitan Police, and consequently not liked. I got that in my mind, very quickly
and answered accordingly. Of course they did not want to lose me, but they had no choice. I could
go.

My goods and chattels were returned. There was no charge they could make. I thanked them, and
asked the way Out. They kindly sent a policeman to show me.

It was 12-30 a.m. when I got back to the Hotel, and I soon tumbled into bed — never once dreaming
of looking like an Admiral in mufti, and mistaking park gates.

A JAZZ BAND. Good and bad boys used to pop in at the workshop, which was situated at the back
of Lorrimore Street. The good boys I was always pleased to see; but the layabouts were eventually
the cause of me moving miles away to the edge of London.

43

One evening about 7 of us formed a jolly little party in front of the fire, where we were discussing
the plausibility of Dr. Bodie. Presently Phil Davis got up to put a Gramophone funnel into a place of
safety, and as he walked to the other end of the workshop (which happened to be rather a long one)
he started to hum into it.

Instantly everyone jumped to their feet, and seized something they

could make a noise with. Sheets of tin, lengths of tube, a frying pan, cardboard boxes — all came
into “play.” Round and round we went in a circle, and as happy as a lot of school boys. Silly? Why,
of course it was silly; but I have since seen it done at parties. All we thought about was to make hide-
ous noises; and we succeeded. Then somehow we all seemed to hear a noise, and the very fact of be-
ing able to hear it made us stop quite suddenly. Whatever was wrong? It was impossible to see out
of the windows because they were white-washed; so I opened the double doors where we let goods
down into the roadway. What a sight, and what a howling mob. Hundreds of people had congre-
gated in the cartway, and all the windows of the backs of a row of private houses were full of watch-
ers. Oh!. what a noise. I banged the doors to quickly, and then we kept very quiet. About an hour
later we were able to leave. It appears that the noise we made could be heard many streets away, and
our shadows on the whitewashed windows as we marched round caused much delight to the rude
boys who made ditto noises.

“TOM.” There was another occasion when we could not leave the workshop, but the cause was
quite diferent. We had a set of gloves, and as none of us were really skilled in the noble art of self de-
fence, damage was quite frequent. Tom was a thick set fellow and his boxing was of the rough-
house order — kill your man and argue afterwards, and that made him top dog of our circle. Well,
he had mauled me somewhat, and we stopped for a rest. It should have ended there, but I thought I
could do better, so on we went. I certainly improved, and so did he. Another rest; and still I wasn’t
satisfied, so on we went again. Soon after I decided to stop. We washed up as best we could, but nei-
ther liked going out in the daylight. So we had to stay where we were. Someone called, and when
they saw our faces and blood-stained shirts they asked what was the matter. “A stray cat got in, and
bit Tom on the nose. I pulled it off, and then it turned on me.” “A stray cat? Well, if you had not told
me, I should have thought you had been fighting.” How beastly suspicious, some people are.

CUSTOMERS. I used to have a very curt way with customers who would say:- “Work the trick to
me the same as you would on the stage.” “Certainly. Where are you supposed to be sitting?” “In the
Stalls.” Good. That is ten and six. Will you pay now?" “You are being foolish.” “Only as foolish as
you expecting a stage effect in a crowded store room.” The customer we used to detest most were
school teachers, on account their superiority. This fact is easily accounted for. They “king it” over
juveniles, who instantly obey their every order, and then expect subservience from everyone they
come in contact with. Teaching is not a manly occupation. It is woman’s work.

There is no space in a book of this description to give a fair account of the curious happenings that
took place at Duke Street. Otherwise I would tell of a certain Editor who was for a period chased out
of his life by a certain lady-love, and who often took refuge in a little ante-room on the stairs; of the
man who had made much money in the great rubber boom, and then lost his reason; and a hundred
and one others, who all helped to make life exciting and interesting. Yet I must spare space for one
customer, whom I have always considered the prize idiot.

THE PRIZE IDIOT. The first time I met him, he was quite a young man, and he tapped gently at
the door, came in, and said:- “If you please, I’ve come.” A few years passed before I met him again,

44

and then he was full of assurance. Just as he was leaving he paused, and asked if we had a Watch
Target that was not worked by a thread, clock-work piston or sand arrangement. I had to think for a
few seconds, and then told him we had not. His face beamed with pleasure, and he said:- “Ah, but I
have” I congratulated him, and wanted to let it go at that, for I had business to attend to; but he still
stayed. “Yes; it is a wonderful idea of my own — no threads or clock-work, or anything like what
you would know.” I again congratulated him, and turned to leave him; but he still hung on to the
subject, and finished up by asking if he should tell me how he did it. He pleased himself, and told
me. “I have no attachment whatever. I release it BY FIRING A REAL BULLET.

Mr. AINSLIE PAIN. I am not quite sure whether this gentleman will appreciate what I am going to
write, but as we only meet about once in five years I will risk it. Mr. Pain once offered to exhibit a
new trick of mine at a certain Concert, and was then struck down with ‘Flu.’ Ill as he was, he got up
and went out to the performance and straight back to bed again. He took the risk in preference to
breaking his word. That is all; yet it finds a place in this book, and somewhere else as well — my
memory.

Yet another. I have an artist friend — Mr. George A. Morley, who often surprises me by his willing-
ness to help me improve my work. Many times his advice has been invaluable.

It is with pleasure that I look back to the time when I used to chat with such unassuming gentlemen
as Louis Nikola, Allan Stainer, Nathan Dean, Cecil Ward, and very many others. Who would want
to break away from the company of Mr. Oswald Williams? “The Eminent English Conjurer” did
not get his title free, gratis, and for nothing. He worked for it; and if one will only listen, the odds are
much knowledge will be gained during the course of a little chat. “Ossy” made the suggestion to me
that we should meet again at THE SHIP, and have a reunion of all the old Members of the First
Magical Society ever formed; and sit in the same places we occupied on that occasion. The idea is
good but the empty seats would put a damper on it. We would not be happy. Let the original Society
R.I.P.

When I commenced this book I thought 40 or 50 pages of print would cover the subject nicely; yet I
find I have written nearly 40,000 words, and covered a quarter of the ground I originally intended
writing about. It must stop at that. Tales of the genial artist, who would persist in standing in the
Strand and shouting out to his heart’s content, must be omitted. How two men told me how they
were going to burgle Scotland Yard, AND DID IT SUCCESSFULLY, must be passed by. It is not
magic. The magic stories are so numerous, but many could not be printed for fear of giving unnec-
essary offence. Just wait one moment while I find a suitable closing paragraph. Here we are.

I MOVE. Great was the consternation when I suddenly left Walworth, and severed my connection
with the Lads of the Village. To be perfectly candid, there have been times when I have missed
them, for being a staid, respectable member of the community bores at times; but age and illness
quietens one down, and possibly I have done more useful work under the latter conditions.

So there are no regrets.

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