Wonder of the Worlds

by Sesh Heri

  “You certainly can,” Paige said. He nodded to the operator, and the young man began expertly typewriting at the letter keyboard. Everybody gathered around and watched the machine go into action. At each stage of the process, there were murmurs of “I say!” and “Here, here,” and “Remarkable!” After a couple of paragraphs had been justified, I stepped forward, and said, “We need only one more thing, Paige—a phonograph on the distributor to yell, ‘Where in the hell is the printer’s devil, I want more type!’” Everybody laughed and nodded. I could begin to see the money shine in all their eyes. The tall man said, “Mr. Clemens, this is most remarkable—the most remarkable thing I have ever seen.”

  “My sentiments exactly,” I replied.

  The words were barely out of my mouth before a squealing sound split the air—a sound like a pig down at the Chicago Stockyards getting its throat slit. “Shut it down!” Paige shouted to the operator. “Shut it down!”

  The operator pulled a switch down and the machine shaft disengaged and the machine came to a dead stop. “What’s wrong?” I asked.

  “A jam,” Paige said. “The machine’s jammed. Probably from a speck of dust. I believe I can locate the problem in just a moment.” We all stepped back, as if giving the machine air. “Will… will it be all right?” I asked.

  “Just a moment!” Paige snapped. He was unscrewing the plate on the distributor. “How often does the machine break down?” the tall man asked.

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  Paige said, “We have done several test runs. The machine is quite reliable. There are, however, a few minor adjustments yet to be made.” “Are the patents secured?” the tall man asked.

  I said, “We are going through that process right now. The patents are pending.” Another man in the group said, “Do you know what they call this machine at the patent office in Washington? The Whale.” “That’s right,” I said, “and it’s going to be a whale of a success, a whale of a money maker for anyone who invests in it.”

  “Well,” said yet another man, “that is an interesting assertion. I, for one, however, would like to see some specific facts and figures on its test runs.” I said, “We are in the process of setting up another full test run for the machine right now.” “Well,” the man went on, “until it has been properly tested, I think a man would be a fool to invest in it.” And with that the man walked out, closing the door behind him. I said, “That man doesn’t know it, but because of his short-sightedness he has just lost a fortune! A fortune! I tell all of you there are millions to be made in the Paige typesetter—millions!” I stopped. Everybody was staring at me. I realized that I was sounding just like Colonel Sellers.

  I said, “But, of course, I do not expect you to take my word for it. I ask you to look at the machine and judge for yourselves.” I looked over at Paige. He was reaching down into the machine. He re- moved his hand, and I could see he was holding a little piece of twisted metal between the jaws of a pair of pliers. “This,” Paige said, “is the culprit. I only need a few minutes to replace it.” Everybody mumbled between themselves. Pocket watches were brought out and looked at. One of the men said:

  “Perhaps we can continue this on another day. We all have appointments and cannot wait any longer.” “But—” I stopped, at a loss for words. Hall spoke up in a cheery tone:

  “Certainly, gentlemen. There is no rush. We will be in contact with you again very soon.” Everybody started on their way. One man stopped, and approached me, and said: “My son and daughter just love your books. Especially Tom Sawyer and The Prince and the Pauper. I was wondering…” He brought out a volume of The Prince and the Pauper. “… if you would sign your name to the front of this book?” “Certainly,” I said. I took the book, opened it to the title page, and wrote:

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  “Dear children, Be good, and you will be lonely. Truly yours, Mark Twain.” And then I handed the book back to the man. He took the book, opened it, read what I had just written, and then looked at me blankly. “But… what does it mean?” he asked. “What does it—? Why, it’s a joke.” “A joke?”

  “Yes. Either you get it or you do not. That is the way jokes operate.”

  “Yes, a joke. Very nice. Only—I was hoping you would write something appropriate for children. Perhaps you could strike this out and—” “Look here. You asked me to sign your book. I have signed it. I will not strike out what I have signed. What you do with it is your business.” “Well. I see. I see,” said the man. “So you are Mark Twain. You are not what I expected. No, not what I expected at all. And that machine of yours there—I think your machine has some problems.” “Oh you do?”

  “Yes. You had better work them out.” “We will work them out. You can bet on that.” “I am not a betting man.” “I am sure you are not.”

  The man turned around and went out. I turned and came up to face the vest buttons of the tall man who had been asking all the questions. He said: “Mr. Clemens, I represent the Mergenthaler-Linotype Company.” “Do tell.”

  “Would you be interested in discussing terms for the purchase of Mr. Paige’s patents when they are issued?” “Terms? We have no terms. We have no intention of selling anything. We are only looking for investors. When we find enough we shall commence manufacture of the machine—ten thousand to start. At that point, your Linotype Company will be a thing of the past.”

  “I see,” the tall man said. “I will communicate your answer to my superiors. Thank you for a most interesting demonstration. I found it absolutely fascinating.” The tall man bowed and walked out.

  I contained myself until he was gone, then looked over at Hall and said, “We got ‘em!” I went to a table, took out my checkbook and wrote Paige a check for seven thousand dollars. I tore the check out of the book, got up and went over to Paige where he was tinkering with the machine. I said, “Paige.”

  He looked up. I held out the check I had made out to him, and said, “Here’s your check.” Paige took it and looked at it. When he saw the figure on it, his eyes widened and he snapped his head back up to me. He was too shocked to smile.

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  “Forget about yesterday,” I said. “Forget about today. All these fools here today are of no consequence whatsoever—save one—the representative from Mergenthaler. We’ve got ‘em on the run, Paige, we’ve got ‘em on the run, and they know we’re going to beat ‘em! So don’t you worry about money. I’ll get you all the money you need one way or another—just get this machine up and running and finished—for we are sitting on a pot of gold! A pot of gold!”

  CHAPTER FIVE

  The Electric Bloodhound

  We tried to make some plans, but we couldn’t come to no agreement. Me and Jim was for turning around and going back home, but Tom allowed that by the time daylight come, so we could see our way, we would be so far toward England that we might as well go there, and come back in a ship, and have the glory of saying we done it.

  — Huck, Tom Sawyer Abroad

  “You do realize it’s going to be nearly impossible to get inside that ware- house?” George Ade asked Lillie West as the two of them walked back up along Jackson Street.

  “I was thinking,” Lillie said, “that there must be some kind of master key or… what do they call it… ?” “A skeleton key.” “That’s it.”

  “It would take a locksmith to make something like that. And he’d want to know what we are going to do with it. Wait a minute.” George Ade stopped and looked up the street. “What is it?” Lillie asked.

  “I just thought of something,” Ade said. “There just might be a chance we can get inside that warehouse. Just a chance. Maybe. Come on.” Ade and Lillie went on along Jackson Street. In a moment, Ade said, “This way,” and he turned left on to State Street. “What’s your idea?” Lillie asked.

  “I know someone who might be able to get us into that warehouse. Might. That is, if we can convince him to help us.”

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  “Who is he?”

  �
��A kid I met the other day. He works up here in a dime museum doing a magic act.” “How can he help us?”

  “He’s an expert lock picker.”

  Ade and Lillie continued walking south down State Street until they reached Kohl and Middleton’s Globe Dime Museum.

  Kohl and Middleton’s was like so many other “cabinets of curiosity” going back to P.T. Barnum’s American Museum on New York’s lower Broadway. Red and white banners hung from the walls and f lapped in the breeze. A long, narrow poster announced a list of artifacts on display under glass in the Hall of Curios: a shrunken head from the Fiji Islands; a mermaid; the world’s smallest printed book; a potato shaped like the head of Abraham Lincoln; an Egyptian mummy. Another long poster announced the following performers in the Hall of Variety: “Houdini Brothers, wonderful wizards; Miss Cozart, the longhaired lady; Oklahoma Bill, the prairie scout and his wife; Fannie Burdett, the danc- ing midget; the great Prof. King.” Another poster announced that in the museum’s annex magician Horace Goldin was presenting an extravaganza for the price of an extra dime. Ade and Lillie went through the open doors of the museum and up to the box office.

  “I’m George Ade with the Chicago Record.” The ticket clerk removed the cigar from his mouth and asked, “So?” “I want to see the manager.” The ticket clerk studied Ade for a moment. He motioned to the entrance. “Tell the ticket taker.”

  Ade and Lillie passed on inside to the ticket taker who was dressed in a gray and red usher’s uniform. “I’m with the Chicago Record. I want to see the manager,” Ade said.

  “Go ahead,” the ticket taker said, waving his hand toward the manager’s office door. Ade and Lillie went through the turnstile and crossed the hall. Ade knocked on the door.

  “Come in!” an impatient voice said from inside. Ade opened the door and looked in at a man sitting at a desk. “I’m George Ade with the Chicago Record.” “The Record you say?” “That’s right.” “What can I do for you?” “I’d like to see Houdini.” “Houdini?” “Yes, that’s right.”

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  “He has a show in just a few minutes. You want to interview him?” “Maybe. If I think what he has to say is of interest to our readers.” “Just a minute, just a minute,” the man said, as he put on his coat.

  The man held out his hand to Ade and said, “Hedges is the name. I’m the manager. Haven’t I seen you in here before?” Ade shook Hedges hand.

  “Yes,” Ade said. “I believe I spoke with your assistant the last time. I’ve been here to interview some of your players.” “That’s right,“ Hedges said, “I remember you now.”

  Ade said, “And this is my colleague, Miss Li—ah, you may know her from the Daily News as ‘Amy Leslie’.” “Of course, the drama critic,” Hedges said with a nod. “Delighted to make your acquaintance, Miss Leslie. Come on down this way.” Hedges went out into the lobby and past a row of strength testing machines and the glass booth of a fortune-telling automaton. Ahead, a hallway divided in two directions, the hall on the left had a sign reading “Curios,” while the hall on the right read “Variety.”

  Hedges turned right and went down the “Variety” hall, and Lillie and Ade followed him. They came out into a larger hall, an open f loor in front of a long elevated platform divided into small sections and curtained. The hall’s lecturer who introduced the performers stood to the side of the platform while Fanny Burdett the midget danced an Irish clog on her little section of the boards, accompanied by a pianist on an upright at the foot of the stage. Several early morning thrill-seekers stood in the gas-lit gloom of the hall, watching the show with blank, impassive faces. Hedges went to the side of the stage, pulled back the f lap of a red and white striped canvas curtain, and held it up for Ade and Lillie to pass through to the back of the stage. Behind the stage a narrow hall led to a series of doors opening on to tiny dressing rooms. Ade and Lillie followed Hedges to one of the dressing room doors. “Hey, Houdini!” Hedges said, knocking at the door.

  The door swung open and Houdini appeared in the doorway. He was dressed in a black wrinkled sack suit. “So you’ve heard,” Houdini said.

  “Heard what?” asked Hedges. “I haven’t heard anything.” “Jacob left town this morning,” Houdini said. “Left?“ Hedges asked, “Why? What’s happened?”

  “His mother got sick back in New York. He had to go home and take care of family business.” “Oh, he did, did he? And why didn’t he tell me?” “He thought you wouldn’t like him leaving.” “Oh, is that so? Well, he thought right!”

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  Hedges let out a huff and scratched the back of his head. “All right, all right,” Hedges said. “You go on by yourself.” “I can’t.” “And why not?”

  “I need Jacob to do Metamorphosis.” “I’ll get Billy to fill in.” “ That loafer? No doing. The ef fect requires speed and skill.” “So what are you going to do? Leave a hole in my show?”

  “And I should do otherwise, Mr. Hedges? Jacob had to go. It was his mother, Mr. Hedges! We both have to accept that.” “I don’t have to accept anything. I ought to fire the both of you.”

  “I’ve wired Jacob’s brother, Joe. He can stand in for Jacob. Only one problem. It’ll be about a week, week and a half before he can get here from New York.” “Forget his brother. You do a single. Just cut the trunk stunt.”

  “The trunk stunt’s the show. If I do a single, I’ll need some time to build an act. That’ll take a few weeks. I ain’t going on stage unprepared. No, I think I’ll wait until Joe Hyman gets here.” “Oh, fine, fine,” Hedges said. “That’s just fine. And what are you going to do in the meantime?” “Me? Oh, I’m going on holiday!” “Wonderful! Where to? Paree?” “Oh, no,” Houdini said, taking Hedge’s question seriously. “I’m going on a visit back to the old home place up in Appleton, Wisconsin.” “Oh, for joy!” Hedges said with disgust. “I was wondering. Can I keep my equipment here while I’m gone? It would help out a lot.”

  “Oh, by all means! That’s what I’m here for! To help out a lot! I’m a regular charity ward! Just be sure your stuff’s locked up tight. I’m not going to be responsible for any loss or theft. You understand?” “Yes, sir. Don’t you worry a bit. Nobody can get into a trunk of Houdini’s.” “See that they don’t. You’ve got a couple people out here who want to talk to you.”

  Hedges turned and stormed off, shaking his head and mumbling to himself. Houdini put his head out the door and saw Ade standing in the hall.

  “Mr. Ade!” Houdini said with a broad grin. “Please come in! And your lady friend, too! Come in! Come in! Please!” Houdini waved Lillie and Ade into his little dressing room, bowing all the while to them and grinning. They went in, and Houdini came in behind them and closed the door. Houdini dusted off a chair with his handkerchief and gestured for Lillie to sit. “That’s all right,” Lillie said, “I’ll stand.”

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  “This is Amy Leslie,” Ade said, “of the Chicago Daily News. But all her friends call her by her real name, Lillie West.” “It is a pleasure to make your acquaintance,” Houdini said, taking Lillie’s hand gently and bowing before her. “I have oft read your great daily,” he said. “‘Twas once my ambition to be a literary man myself, but the siren call of the stage beckoned me forth, and since that day I have been its obedient servant.” Houdini bowed his head solemnly. Lillie and Ade looked at each other and smiled and tried not to laugh. “Well,” Ade said, “perhaps you have found your true calling.”

  “Ah,” Houdini said, “so it seems, so it seems. Yet there is that tugging of the heart toward ever higher aspirations. Yet time and tide allow a man only so much. We who would achieve much must walk a narrow line. Such is life.” Houdini looked expectantly back and forth between Lillie and Ade, but they just stared at him. Finally Houdini asked, “How’m I doin’?” “Excuse me?” Ade asked. “How’m I talkin’? Am I talkin’ good?” “I’m not sure I know what you mean,” Ade said. “All right, I’ll level with you. What I just said wasn’t all off the cuff.” “No!”
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  “No. I know I must’ve sounded real natural, but that was a speech I’ve been workin’ over to try out on the gentlemen of the press—oh, and the ladies, too! Only, so far, I ain’t had a chance to try it out! You two are the first to hear it. How’d it sound? Real good, I bet!” “Oh,” Ade said, “it sounded fine, fine.”

  Houdini looked at Ade with uncertainty, and said, “But maybe you could give me some pointers to make it better?” “Well—” Ade started to say.

  “But if you say it’s fine, we’ll leave it at that. Should I be surprised? Houdini is the son of a scholar. It’s only natural that he should talk good.” “Talk well,” Ade corrected.

  “Yes,” Houdini said. “No reason he should not talk like a scholar and a gentleman.” “Yes,” Ade said. “No reason.”

  “So! Did you make it out yesterday to see my jump?” “Yes,” Ade said. “I was there.” “So you saw the whole thing?” “Yes.” “Then why did I see no write-up in your paper today?” “Well, we’ve had a lot of things going on lately. Lots of news, you know.” “None of it could be as big as Houdini. Did you see the crowd I pulled?” “Yes. But, really, my editor decides what will run and when it will run.”

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  “And this editor of yours, he’s got something against running great stories?” “Oh, he’s all for great stories.” “So what’s the problem?”