Jack Harkaway and His Son's Escape from the Brigands of Greece Part 36

At the self-same instant out went the lights; a heavy hand was placed upon Mr. Mole's head, and hey, presto! his wig was seen dancing about at the ceiling, glittering with a phosph.o.r.escent light upon it.

Mr. Mole looked up, gave one awful yell, then made for the door, and flew away as fast as his wooden legs would carry him.

And his yells continued, for all along his route young Jack had sprinkled a plentiful supply of crackers, which exploded as he ran.

An unearthly chorus, sounding like the discordant laughter of invisible fiends greeted his retreat, and he never stopped until he had got home, panting and gasping for breath.

As soon as he was out of the room Harry Girdwood locked the door.

"Come forth, my merry devils!" he shouted. "Old Mole's gone."

The curtain was drawn back, and in came d.i.c.k Harvey and Jack Harkaway, carrying lights.

The wizard threw back his head dress and long horsehair wig, and showed the grinning face of young Jack himself.

"Bravo, Jack," said his comrade, Harry; "you did it ever so much better than the other conjuror did."

"Was he frightened?" inquired young Jack.

"Poor old Mole! I never saw him so alarmed before."

Harvey and old Jack enjoyed the fun every bit as much as the boys.

"My opinion is," said the elder Harkaway, laughing, "that the triumph of the whole job was in the dancing wig."

"It was beautifully done," said Harvey.

"I nearly missed it," said Harry Girdwood laughing, "for you put out the lights so suddenly that I couldn't find the string, and then I nearly dug the hook into his head as well as his wig; and as for the phosphorus, I gave him a dab with it upon the nose."

"Ha, ha, ha!"

Every thing had been carefully arranged beforehand, it need hardly be said, and a cord, with a fish-hook at the end of it, was run over a small wheel fixed in the ceiling,

Harry held the other end of the cord, and as soon as the darkness and confusion came, he drove the hook into poor old Mole's wig, while he rubbed it dexterously with phosphorus, and then with a jerk he hauled it up to the ceiling, where he set it dancing about, to the indescribable horror of Mole.

CHAPTER XII.

WHEREIN MR. MOLE IS CRUELLY USED--THE GARDEN FETE--SUNDAY AND MONDAY GIVE AN ENTERTAINMENT--ANOTHER LOOK INTO THE MAGIC MIRROR-- STUDIES OF NATURAL HISTORY--AN INVOLUNTARY PERFORMER.

When Isaac Mole had time to reflect coolly upon what had occurred, doubts arose in his mind.

In spite of the seemingly inexplicable nature of the phenomena which he had witnessed, he felt that Harkaway, father or son, must know something of it.

d.i.c.k Harvey, he was morally sure, was in it.

If any thing fell, Harkaway would start up, on which Harvey or young Jack would immediately inquire anxiously if he were startled, solely for the purpose of leading up to Mole's words at the wizard's house.

"Startled--nervous! Never; iron nerves, sir--adamant!"

Upon these occasions, Mr. Mole would glide away from Harkaway's room without a word, leaving his tormentors to have their grin out all to themselves.

All they could do they could not make him drop a word of allusion to the events just narrated.

On that topic he was utterly dumb. Day and night the worthy Isaac Mole brooded over one solitary topic.

Revenge.

"I'll teach 'em," he said; "I'll let them know what it is to play practical jokes with a man like me."

The last straw breaks the camel's back. The last indignity on his wig proved too much for Isaac Mole, for he had until that fatal day at the magician's, been fondly hugging himself in the delusion that the secret was all his own.

The talk was tortured and twisted about so as to make it bear upon the sorest subject for the poor old gentleman.

"Dash my wig, Mr. Mole!" Harvey would say; "let's take a short country excursion. You know the advantages of change of _hair."_

If a suggestion were wanting for the dinner of the day, a voice was ready to advocate "jugged hare."

"That's very well," said Harkaway, "but where can you get one in these parts?"

"That's it," chimed in Harvey; "as Mrs. Gla.s.se says, first catch your _hair,_ eh, Mr. Mole?"

Mole winced.

"It's not always easy to catch it, is it, Mr. Mole?" said Harry Girdwood, slyly.

"Not if it flies too high," said young Jack.

This chaff goaded poor old Mole to fury, coming as it did from the boys.

"Really," he said, with a lofty sneer, "I don't see what you have to laugh at in the idle nonsense of these children."

This made them grin more than ever.

"The wit of the rising generation," sneered Mole.

"Mr. Mole would like the young generation never to rise, I think," said Harry Girdwood.

"That's it," laughed Harkaway; "Mr. Mole was always so conservative in his ideas."

"Let me see, dad," said young Jack, looking puzzled; "Conservative, why, that means a Tory."

"Yes."

"But, Mr. Mole, I thought that you always were a Whig."