He would teach me his magic, i thought, and takeTheIllusionists

The annual visit of M. L'Estrange to our schoolin Ihe first week of March marked the end of

winter and the beginning of spring. The bleakcountryside around Beann;itVeaghan was cold-dead when he arrived and for perhaps a few weeksafter he left, but when we heard the scrape of hisbicycle handlebars against the school wall andsaw his battered silk hat pass the classroom win-dow, the terrible boredom of winter vanishedsuddenly, and we knew that good times wereimminent.

We hadn't many visitors to BeannafreaghanPrimary School, where my father was the princi-pal and entire staff. Once a month Father Shiels,the manager, drove the twisted five miles from thetown, in one breath asked us were we good andtold us to say our prayers, shook father's handfirmly and scuttled away again as if someone werechasing him. Occasionally an inspector wouldcome, and father would show him the seepingwalls and the cracked windows and the rottingfloor, and the inspector would grunt sympa-thetically, nod his head sadly from side to side andleave without asking us anything. At odd timessalesmen for books would come, but no one everbought anything. And one morning a travelingtheater, a great colored caravan towed by a LandRover, stopped at our gate, and a man with abeard and an English accent breezed into theclassroom. 1 distinctly overheard father tellinghim that unfortunately it would be impossible forhim to put on a play that day because a recordingunit of the BBC was coming that very afternoonto make choral and verse-speaking tapes. Thewhole story, of course, was a fabrication : Therewasn't a note of song or a line of verse in any ofus. The truth of the matter was that his twenty-five pupils could not afford to pay sixpence each,much less two shillings, not even to see an inter-national cast doing international plays.

J never knew which I liked better: to be playingin the school yard at lunchtime and suddenly seethe tall figure of M. L'Estrange, mounted on hisbicycle, freewheeling recklessly down the long hillthat hid us from the town of Omagh. or to he inclass, staring dreamily at an open book, and thento hear the scrape of his handlebars against thewall of the school.

I think I preferred him to walk in on us whenwe were in the midst of lessons, to see the dooropening, to hear his deep, resonant voice boomout, "Am 1 interrupting the progress of knowl-edge?" because then the delight was so acute thatmouths opened, eyes stared and hearts raced—there he was, M. L'Estrange, the illusionist, back

again to perform magic for us ! To rustic childrenhe WHS the most wonderful man in the world.

Father was stiffly polite to the manager andoveranxious with inspectors, but he welcomedM. L'Estrange warmly and enthusiastically.Mother's attitude toward the illusionist was atleast consistent with her usual behavior—shetreated him quietly and with caution. But T couldnever understand father's attitude. There was nodoubt that he was delighted to see M. L'Estrange.He put an arm around his shoulders and pumpedhis hand and kept looking at us to find a matchfor his own heartiness in our faces (perhaps hemistook our stillness for indift^rencel. But as theafternoon went on, his exuberance evaporated,and he became irritable again, and by the time,always late in the evening. M. L'Estrange left ourhouse to cycle back to the town, father and hewere more than half drunk, and father wouldhave begun taunting him about being nothingmore than a trick-of-the-loop man and scarcelybetter than a tramp. But when he first arrived atschool you would think father had found a long-lost brother. He would exclaim, "Look, children!Look who's here! M. L'Estrange! Back again!"As if there were any need to teil us. From the mo-ment he appeared in the doorway our quick,country eyes devoured him: the calm face, theslender white hands, the long silvery hair that hadgiven a gloss to the collar of his frock coat, theblack striped trousers, frayed at the bottom, thesoiled white scarf, the glittering rings. And then,long before 1 had finished gazing at him, fatherwould send me across the fields to the house to tellmother to have a meal ready for M. L'Estrangeafter the performance.

That was a job I hated. Mother never sharedmy e.\citement—"Don't tell me that old trickster'shere again!"—and by the time I got back theshow was ready to begin. It was little consolationto me that later in the evening, when al! the otherpupils had scattered, 1 would have M. L'Estrangeall to myself in my own house. What mattered wasthat I invariably missed the preparations: theclearing of father's table; M. L'Estrange puttingon his black mask ; the hanging of the curtain be-tween the blackboard and the fireplace; the ar-ranging of the desks in three rows. The smallestchildren, frozen with delicious nervousness, sat inthe front seats, the bigger ones sat in the middle,and the biggest along the back. Father stood atthe door and smoked, his face relaxed and smoothwith content.

Then M. L'Estrange would begin. He wouldstand in front of us for a few minutes, his hands

joined before his chest as if he were praying, hislean, lined face immobile, staring at us with thosesoft, sad eyes of his. Mesmerized, we stared back,our throats drying with anticipation, giggles stir-ring and promptly dying in our throats. Suddenlyhe would crack his fingers and say, "Would some-one please open a window at the back of the au-ditorium?" or "Would it be possible to have aspotlight switched on ?" in a voice so unexpectedlyquiet and persuasive that instinctively we allmoved to do his bidding, so great was our reliefthat he had spoken, so hypnotic was his powerover us. From then on he had us in the palm ofhis hand.

Though I saw his tricks every year for five or sixyears, I remember only two of them. In one heknotted a heavy string to one of his back teeth,gave the string a tug, and out came a huge woodenmolar, the size of a turnip. The other trick I re-member was with a rabbit that had dull, wearyeyes, like my mother's. He sat the rabbit on fa-ther's table, surrounded it with four sheets ofcardboard, covered these with a black cloth, andto our horror collapsed the box with a greatthump of his fists. Of course the rabbit had dis-appeared. With a tired smile he would produce itfrom under his jacket.

We knew that the show was over when M.L'Estrange walked over to where father stood andled him to the middle of the classroom. Togetherthey stood before us, both smiling and bowing (I Jwas always embarrassed by father's bowing, as if \he had been part of the entertainment), while weclapped and cheered and whistled and stami edour feet. Then father made a speech of apprecia-tion, thanked M. L'Estrange for "including hum-ble Beannafreaghan in hi§ overcrowded itiner-ary." reminded us to bring twopence eacli thenext day—he paid the illusionist out of his ownpocket and through the following weeks badgeredand cajoled his pupils to reimburse him—andgave us the rest of the afternoon off. It was thenthat I knew one ofthefewadvantages of being theteacher's son : Each year I was privileged to wheelM. L'Estrange's bicycle, with the precious, se-curely sealed box that held the rabbit and thegiant tooth and the other sacred things on its cai -rier rack, from the school to our house. It was aquarter of a mile by road, and I was always ac-companied by a retinue of a dozen or more ama-teur illusionists who pantomimed around me,yanking out their teeth and producing rabbitsfrom schoolbags, offering me all the wealth oftheir pockets if I would allow them even to totjcha rim of the bicvcle's wheel.

By BRIAN FRIEL

66

me to great palaces, and to see the seven seas!

Illiis/ralion by Ray Prohaslca

He wo» crawling Umard the bicycle on his hands and km.es, arid he smiled strangely at tm.

67

ILLUSIONISTS

M. L'Esinmiíc's last visit to Bcuniui-rrcaglian. in Martrh of my tonlh year, Kthe one I rcmcnil Hjr mosi \i\iJlv hccauso1 hadsponi ilic wliolc doleful winter wail-ing for il. Father liad decided that 1 wasto be sent to a Jesuit boarding scliool inDublin tlic ne\t September Hike ^o mainof liis grand plans, ihis one fell througlitoo; when September came, mother gotthe Christian Brothers in Omagh lo takemeas a day pupil), and I liad made up my

mind to escape that terrible fate by gct-tijig M. L'EstrangL' (ii lake me away wilbhim as an apprentice illusionist. 1 knewthai a busy man like him could do vsith anassistant to organize his tours and lookafter his accoutermenis. My scheme wasnol altogether impracticable: 1 had asmall bieyele of my own and pliinned tolearn my mentor's craft so that wben heretired I eould become a professionalillusionist myself. Throughoul the year 1had put all my pocket money into a cocoatin so ihat when my apprenticeship began

I would have a measure of independence.1 lold no one of my scheme. And thatMarcb. as I wheeled M. L'Estrange'sbicycle from the school to the house,I remember watching the othersclowning around me aíid thinking howyoung and silly tbey were. Little didthey know the wonderful future that laybefore me.

Father and M. L'Estrange sauntered inabout half an hour later. As father's goodhumor unaccountably dwindled, the il-lusionist's increased. He bowed the-

headache? take aspirinTENSION?

take_COMPOZ^

COMPOZ IS THE TABLET

FOR SIMPLE NERVOUS TENSION

Siniple nervous tension can be exhausting. COMPÖZ does for simple nervous tension whataspirin does for headache . . . and it's just as easy^ ^^^._^^ prescription is needed ! It helps calm

pT,ght, taut nerves can stretch your patience to a ^ ^^^._^^ prescription is

slender thread . . . grrp you tn constant .rritation. ^^^ ,^ r^ , ^ | ^^^_ ^ ,^^They can alTect your family and fr.ends . . . make ^^^ responsibilities in stridevou feci you can't cope with everyday problems , , , ^

,, .,. , No one should suiTer witand responsibilities. . . ,

sion And now with ciiMi'O

u feci you cant cope with everyday problems , , , ^,, .,. , No one should suiTer with simple nervous ten-

d responsibilities. . . ,sion. And now, with cii.Mi'OZ. you don i have to.

How to end this kind of distress? Take COMI'ÖZ. Get COMJ'OZ at your drug store today.

* SEDATUT ro« l i l t rLMPOBAHï MtLIEl 01- SIMI'LE HEK'-OtJi IKSSIOS', H DISTKIIIU f l . l l H> Jl.lim.'r ' l . ' .miN I *H'IHAIOB1ES. INC. UMM^J, •., (.

atrically to mother and addressed her as"Madame," and I believe he would haveraised her hand to his lips had she notpulled it away and said in her flattestCounty Tyrone accent, "I suppose youVefamished as usual. Mister, are you?"

"I'll not say no to a morsel, Madame,"said the illusionist with a roguish smile."I'll not say no."

And for a man with such a lean, pa-tient face he had a huge appetite. Indeed,so hungrily did he eat that father did thetalking and M. L'Estrange only grunted"I see" or "Yes" between mouthfuls.When the meal was over, father produeeda bottle of whiskey and pulled up twochairs, and they sat talking and drinkingat the fireside, as they did every year,until night came down on Beannafrea-ghan and the whiskey was done.

That winter had been particularly se-vere. There was still snow on the hilltopsand the fields were rigid with black frostwhen M. L'Estrange came. Had I not hadthe evidence of the illusionist sitting in ourkitchen chatting with my father. ! wouldnot have believed spring was at hand.Their talk followed the usual pattern.First they spoke of the satisfaction to begot from teaching school in a small ruralcommunity, "striking a spark that couldcause a conflagration," as the illusionistput i!, and from traveling around thecountryside, "opening the ready hearts ofchildren to laughter." as father said. Theyagreed that each vocation had its uniquerewards. Then they talked about changes

P L E A S E USE YOURPOSTAL ZONE NUMBER

The U. S. Post Office and The SaturdayEvening Post need your help. By givingus your zone number, you'll be assuringspeedy delivery of your magazines.

THE CURTIS PUBLISHING COMPANY

Independence Square, Philadelphia 5, Pa.

they had witnessed over the years: Nowonly dedicated teachers taught in decay-ing, shrinking schools, and only altruistictroupers still entertained in them. Thenthey went away back to the past, andfrom there on it wasn't really a conversa-tion, but two monologues spoken simul-taneously, each man speaking his memo-ries aloud. And when the bottle wasempty, father became sarcastic.

Mother refused to be drawn into theirtalk. M. L'Estrange would try to en-gage her, but she sbook him off quickly:"You're nothing but a pair of blether-skites!" Throughout the whole afternoonand evening she never stopped working,baking bread, washing clothes in the zinctub, boiling nettles for tbe hens, scaldingthe milking tins, chopping vegetables fordinner the next day, all the time bustlingabout the kitchen so that she was con-stantly coming between me and the twcmen, and making so much noise with herbuckets and basins that I missed a lot ofwhat was being said. Not that I mindedmissing father's reminiscences—1 hadheard them so often I knew them back-ways—but now that I was on the brink ofa new life every word M. L'Estrange hadto say about his early career was of the ut-most interest. But worse than the din shemade, mother tried to make conversationwith me—"Have you no exercise todo?" . . . "Any fun at school today?" . . ."Why don't you go out for a run on your

bicycle?" , . . "Are you not taking tiie dogout for a walk?"—and when I answeredher in sharp monosyllables she inventedjobs for me : Feed tlie calf, bring ¡n sticks,gel water from the well, close the meadowgate. The result was that I heard only partof the monologues and witnessed only Ihelast half oflhe row that night when fathertold M. L'Estrange never to set foot inBeannafreaghan again.

"The summer [ qualified," father wassaying into his glass as I spread the sticksfor the morning fire on the hearth, "Icame first place in the whole of Ireland.And there wasn't a manager in the thirty-two counties who wouldn't have given hisright arm for me. His right arm, sir."

"France is the country," said M.L'Estrange, turning his rings idly. "That'swhere they had appreciation, A hundredthousand francs for an hour's perform-ance. La Belle France."

"Dublin—Cork—Galway—crying outfor me. An old parish priest drove up thewhole way from Kerry, three hundred andfifty miles, to ask me personally to takeover a school in Killarney, 'We would behonored to have you, Mr. Boyle," he said,"

"Ah, the drawing rooms of London inthe early Twenties! Lords and ladies andall the quality of the land. Lloyd Georgeonce shook my hand and said it was apleasure to see me perform."

"But would I go? Oh, no! Beanna-freaghan, I said. That's the place for me.Beannafreaghan, Because Beanna-freaghan needed a teacher that had some-thing niore to give, just that little bit morethan the other fellow,"

"A pleasure to see me perform. Theyear 1920. In Londonderry House, Lon-don, capital of the world,"

•'I'm tellinß you. if 1 hadn't taken upthe challenge that summer, bloody Bean-nafreaghan Primary School would havebeen closed down, and all the bloody chil-dren would have grown up illiterate,"

•'Top of the bill in Leeds and Man-

"In his white marble palace in the hillswhere the sun shines all day •"

"I'm still here! The proof of the pud-ding is in the eating!"

"It's all in the mind. The powers of ihcmind are beyond our comprehension. Wea r e all - • •"

At that point mother ordered me out tothe shed with her.

J held the hurricane lamp while shemilked the cow. She could do the job infive minutes when she wished, but thatnight she seemed to take hours at it.

"Hurry up! Hurry up!" I kept saying be-cause I was afraid M, L'Estrange wouldha\e gone btforc we gol back.

"What do you want to listen to theravings of two drunk men for?" she sajd."I don't know whal takes that trickslerhero anyway, upsetting things." Andshe rested her forehead against the redcow's side and pulled the tuats US if shenever wanted the milking lo end.

The row began while vie were out. Inthe still, frosty night we heard the angryvoices as we came ou( of the shed. Their

talks had alv.ay:î ended wjlh father taunt-ing rhe illusionist. Bui never until thatnight h.id M. L'Eslningc answered himback; he just lifted his hat from behindthe kilchen door and went off without aword into the darkness. But ihat year,when my whole future depended on him,he had to lose his lemper,

"Good heavens !" said n'iother. "They'llkill each other!" And we ran up to thehouse.

M. L'Estrange was just outside, andfather was standing in the doorway, and

They call liiin''Mr. Tnsiirance 'He's the man from FARMERS INSURANCE

CROUP, friend and neighbor. And advisor, too,when it comes to insurance.

He's the one who helped plan for the Jones boy'scollege education,..Docioj' Jones now. He workedout the retirement plan for the Johnsons. He wrotethe policy that covered the Ryan house in that badfire last year. He's insured a good percentage ofthe neighborhood cars and businesses. You can seewhy he's called "Mr. Insurance,"

There's a "Mr. Insurance" in your community,.,an independent businessman who is a thoroughly-trained, highly skilled professional, dedicated to

serving you. He's a good man to see about ALLyour insurance.

He can show you how FARMERS INSURANCEGROUP can offer you better protection at lowerrates on your PERSONAL, BUSINESS and AGRICUL-TUR.Al, insurance. And he can arrange for you topay for <dl your Farmers insurance with one con-venient monthly payment, if you wish"

Let "Mr. Insurance" prove to j ^ ' ' -" '' ~s?^iyou tha t Farmei-s is the bestinsurance buy in America today.

Call your Farmers Agent forALL your insurance."Noi ovaitable in Tenas.

Fast-Fair Fomiers Insuronce GroupI.YiMMEWIAL

II you Lik« to Liv«

Your Leisure to the

Ful l f ls l . . .

fhen HOLIDAY ISFOR YOU ...

HOLIDAY HOLIDAY HOLIDAY HOLIDAYHOLIDAyS magnificent photography and distinctive writing introduce

you to interesting people, fascinating places, Fine foods, fashions, the arts—

a vast array of new excitements. Introduce yourself to leisure at its best.

D Yes, I want to start getting HOLIDAY magazine regularly.

Please send me 15 issues tor $3.75—Just 25c a copy—and bill me later.

N A M E UNtOIIDIKONil (lUHdAKIrtl-r Fubliihn iii-:n. UDon tttutW

•iilKl frDrn vibKubtli la 111 Ph'lD

A D D R E S S Jupjunl ti jd li>r Jill cow«! * i Cuili.

PimltJ til U.S A.

TOWN 2ONE__ STATET77B

i, and they nuynot have the mosl modern school huild-ing, but they deserve ihe best teacher inthe country, top of my elass Ihe summer 1qualified, and they're going to have thebest teacher in the country ! I'm not goingto desert them, I said to him."

"My Lords, ladies, and gentlemen,things are not what they appear! Thequiekness of the hand deceives the eye! Iwas entrusted with the secret of this nextact by the sultan of Mysore "

"And 1 didn't desert them. I'm bloodywell still here, amn't I? In spite of all theoffers I got. Hundreds of them. Only fif-teen years ago in this very kitchen "

ILLUSIONISTS

M. L'lZslruiiBc's l;isi visit 10 Bcaniio-frcaglian. in M;irch of my lonili ywr. isthe one I rcinenit^cr mosi \ividly liocauseI li;id sponi tlic wliiilodololul "irucr wait-ing for it. |-;illicr luid decided thai 1 wasto ITO sent to a Je^uir boarding school inDublin tlie nc\l SeplemLicr (like so manyof his grand plan^, ihi^ one fell Ihroughtoo; when Scplemlicr came, mother gotthe Christian Brolhcrs in Omagli lo takeme as a day pupil), and I had made up my

mind 10 escape that (erriblc fate by gel-ling M. L'Eslrange io lake me away withhim as an apprentice illusionist. I knewthat a busy man like him could do with aniissislanl lo organi¿e his lours and lookaTter his iiceoulcrments. My scheme wasnol allogcihor impracliaible: I had asmall bieycle of my own and planned tolearn my mentor's crall so thai when heretired I could become a professionalillusionist myself. Throughout the year 1had pul all my pocket money inloacocoalin •.!> ihal whi'n my appreniiceship began

I would have a measure of independetice,I lold no one of my scheme. And thatMarch, as I wheeled M, L'Estrange'sbicycle from the schooi to the housi;.I remember watching the othersclowning around me aod thinking howyoung and silly they were. Little didihey know the wonderful future that laybefore me.

Father and M, L'Estrange sauntered inahout half an hour later. As father's goodhumor unaccountably dwindled, the il-lusionist's increased. He bowed the-

headache? take aspirinTENSION?

take_COMPOZ

atrically to mother and addressed her as"Madame," and I believe he would haveraised her hand to his lips had she nolpulled it away and said in her flattestCounty Tyrone accent, "I suppose you'refamished as usual. Mister, are you?"

"I'll not say no lo a morsel, Madame,"said the illusionist with a roguish smite."I'll not say no."

And for a man with such a lean, pa-tient face he had a huge appetite. Indeed,so hungrily did he eat that father did thetalking and M. L'Estrange only grunted"I see" or "Yes" between mouthfuls.When the meal was over, father produceda bottle of whiskey and pulled up twoeliairs, and they sat talking and drinkingat the fireside, as they did every year,until night came down on Beannafrea-ghan and the whiskey was done.

That winter had been particularly se-vere. There was still snow on the hilltopsand the fields were rigid with blaek frostwhen M. L'Estrange came. Had I not hadthe evidence of the illusionist sitting in ourkitchen chatting with my father, I wouldnot have believed spring was at hand.Their talk followed the usual patterti.First they spoke of the satisfaction to begot from teaching school in a small ruralcommunity, "striking a spark that couldeause a conflagration," as the illusionistput it, and from traveling around thecountryside, "opening the ready hearts ofchildren to laughter," as father said. Theyagreed that each vocation had its uniquerewards. Then they talked about changes

P L E A S E USE YOURPOSTAL ZONE NUMBER

The U. S. Post Office and The SaturdayEvening Post need your help. By givingus your zone number, you'll be assuringspeedy delivery of your magazines.

BUSINESS REPLY MAIL•lo postage necessary if mailed in the U.S.

FIRST CLASS

Permit No. 19

Phila., Pa.

MAIL THIS CARDTO START HOLIDAY

LEISURE COMING TO

YOU REGULARLY

Postage will be paid by

HOLIDAY

Independence SquarePhiladelphia 5, Pennsylvania

COMP

FOR SIMI

Simple nervous tension can be exhausting.

Tight, taut nerves can stretch your patience to aslender thread . . . grip you in constant irritation.They can afTect your family ¡md friends . . . makeyou firel you can't cope with everyday problemsand re.sponsibilities.

How to end this kind of distress? Take COMPÜZ.

COMPOZ dues for simple ncrvouç tension whataspirin does for headache . . . and it's just as easylo buy—no prescription is needed! It helps eaimyou to feel rela.xed, lo take everyday prohlemsand responsihiliiies in stride.

No one should sufTer with simple nervous ten-sion. And now, vviih COMTOZ, you don't have lo.

Gel coMi'fiz al your drug store today.

TENSION

rOR m e Tf.MPORAHÏ IIU.II.I fir SIMI'Li: NER\UUS rtNMIIS-, IS IHSÎHIB1JÏJ.II 111 IBIY I'.kriN I.AHIIH* lolllf.S, INC., UNIOM. N, 1.

J, - . . «ÍW iiiiic uusiiing

about the kitchen so that she was con-stantly coming between me and the twcmen, and making so much noise with herbuckets and basins that 1 missed a lot ofwhat was being said. Not that [ mindedmissing father's reminiscenees—I hadheard them so often 1 knew them back-ways—but now that I was on the brink ofa new life every word M. L'Estrange hadto say about his early career was of the ut-most interest. But worse Ihan the din shemade, mother tried to make conversationwith me—"Have you no exercise todo?" . . . "Any Tun at school today?" . . ."Why don't you go out for a run on your

6 8

bicycle?" . . . "Are you not taking the dogout for a walk?"—and when I answeredher in sharp monosyllables she inventedjobs for me ; Feed the calf, bring ¡n sticks,get water from the well, close the meadowgate. The result was that I heard only partof the monologues and witnessed only thelast hair of the row thatnighi when fathertold M. L'Estrange never to set foot inBeannafreaghan again.

"The summer I qualified," father wassaying into his gfiiss as I spread the sticksfor the morning fire on the hearth, "Icame first place in the whole of Ireland.And there wasn't a manager in the thirty-two counties who wouldn't have given hisright arm for me. His right arm, sir."

"France is the country," said M.L'Estrange, turning h is rings idly. "That'swhere they had appreeiation. A hundredthousand francs for an hour's perform-ance. La Belh Fraitcc."

"Dublin—Cork—Galway—crying outfor me. An old parish priest drove up thewhole way from Kerry, three hundred andfifty miles, to ask me personally to takeover a school in Killarney. 'We would behonored to have you, Mr. Boyle,'he sa id."

"Ah, the drawing rooms of London inthe early Twenties! Lords and ladies andall the quality of the land. Lloyd Georgeonce shook my hand and said it was apleasure to see me perform."

"But would I go? Oh, no! Beanna-freaghan, 1 said. That's the place Tor me.Beannafreaghan. Because Beanna-freaghan needed a teacher that had some-thing more to give, just that little bit morethan the other fellow."

"A pleasure to see me perform. Theyear 1920. In Londonderry House, Lon-don, capital of the world."

"I'm telling you, if I hadn't taken upthe challenge that summer, bloody Bean-nafreaghan Primary School would havebeen closed down, and all the bloody chil-dren would have grown up illiterate,"

"Top of the bill in Leeds and Man-chester and Glasgow and Brighton."

"Bloody illiterates and too bloody goodfor them."

"M. L'Estrange, prince of the occult.""Fifteen years ago the Very Reverend

John Shiels came out to me here andstood in this very kitchen and asked me—bloody well begged me—to take over ihenew school in the town. Wasn't anotherman in the whole of County Tyrone com-petent to tackle it."

"1 drove my own car and stayed in thebest hotels and picked and chose the en-gagements I wanted. There was respectfor illusionists In those days, respect andadmiration."

"And what, said I straight out to him,and what would happen to Beanna-freaghan?"

"I saw me ordering swank dinners forthe whole cast and tipping the waiterswith pound notes."

"That never occurred to him. Oh, no!But it occurred to me. They may be coun-try children, I said to him, and they maynot have the most modern school build-ing, but they deserve the best teacher inthe country, top of my class the su mmer Iqualified, and they're going to have thebest teacher in the country I I'm not goingto desert them, 1 said to him."

"My Lords, ladies, and gentlemen,things are not what they appear! Thequickness of the hand deceives the eye! Iwas entrusted with the secret of this nextact by the sultan of Mysore "

"And I didn't desert them. I'm bloodywell still here, anm't I? In spite of all theoffers I got. Hundreds of them. Only fif-teen years ago in this very kitchen "

"In his white marble palace in the hilKwhere the sun shines all day -~"

"I'm still here! The proof of the pud-ding is in the eating!"

"Il's all in the mind. The powers of themind are beyond our comprehension. Wetire all — ^ "

At that point mother ordered me out tothe shed with her.

I heid the hurricane lamp while shemilked the cow. She could do the job infive minutes when she wished, but thatnight she seemed to take hours ai it.

"Hurry up! Hurr.v up!" I kept saying tie-cüüse I was afraid M. LEstrange wouldhave gone tiefore v.v yal back.

"VVhdt do you want to listen to theravings of two drunk men for?" she said."I don't know wluil takes that tricksterhere anyway, upsetting things." Andshe rested her forehead against the redcow's side ¡md pulled the leats as if shi:never wanted the milking to end.

The row began while we \vere out. lnthe still, frosty night we heard the angryvoices as we came out of the shed. Their

talks had always ended with father taunt-ing the illusionist. But never until thatnight had M. L'Estrange answered himback; he just MTted his hat l'rùm behindthe kitchen door and went off without aword into the darknes?;. But that year,when my whole future depended on him,he had to lose his temper.

"Good heiivens!"said mother. "They'llkil! each other!" And we ran up to thehouse.

M. L'Estrange was just outside, andfather was standing in the doorway, and

They call hiin"Mi\ Insurance 'He's the man from FARMERS INSURANCE

GROUP, friend and neighbor. And advisor, too,when it comes to insurance.

He's the one who helped plan for the Jones boy'.?eollege education...öoc/ur Jones now. He workedout the retirement plan for the Johnsons. He wrotethe policy that covered the Ryan house in that hadfire last year. He's insured a good percentage ofthe neighborhood cars and businesses. You can seewhy he's called "Mr. Insurance."

There's a "Mr. Insurance" in your community...an independent businessman who is a thoroughly-trained, highly skilled professional, dedicated to

sei-\'ine you. He's a good man to see about ALLyour insurance.

He ean show you how FARMERS INSURANCEGROUP can offer you better protection at îowerrates on your PERSONAL, SUStNESS and AGRICUL-TURAL insurance. And he can arrange for you topay for nU your Farmers insurance with one con-venient monthly payment, if you wish*

Let "Mr. Insurance" prove toyou thcit Farmers is the bestinsurance buy in America today.

Call your Farmers Agent forALL your insurance."Not available in Texas.

Fast-Fair. Fomiers Insuronce Groupro.MMEKi.lAL

61

headache? take aspirin

TENSION ?take

coMPorYou won't put up with a head-ache . . . why put up with suiiptenervous tension ? It cnn ha ex;-hausting. Compoz is a seJarivetor the temporary r(*/i'c/ of simplenervous tension. It helps calnîyou to feel relaxed, face responsi-bility. Compoz, taken as dirL-cted,does for tension what aspirindoes for head ache—and it's just aseasy to buy at \our favorite drugdepartment. No prescriptionneeded. Distributed by JeffreyMartin Laboratories, Inc.,Union, N. J.

Coniööz"

Comfort Yonr FeetInitjje!

DrSchollsCOPEE

SHOES .

Oni} shoe DI US kindIn th« world—with

nevar lets rou downl

Here's style so hand.some no ont; wouldguess these fine shoes have so much built-in comfort! COPEGS are the smurtest-looking ßhoes on the street - ytt theirexclusive hand-pegged, hand-buill archgives your feet firm support thai makeswalking fi real pleasure.Dr. SchoM's COPEG Shoes are made ofchoicest soft kid or culfukin, sizes 5J^ to 16;AAA to EEE. Expertly fiLted in Dr. SchoL'sFoot Comfurl;' Shupw. Also select. Shoe andDepartment Storiai. If they ore not availablelocally, write for catalog to:Dr. Scholl'i, Inc., Dopt. 3 8P4, Chicago 10, III.

ILLUSIONISTS

ihey were shouting ul e;ich otlier. Fatherheld on lo the doorposts lor support, andthe ¡llusionisi swjyed h;ick\s.ird iind tbr-WLird. poiiUing un Liccusmj; linger ;il him.They were hoih ugly with hale.

•"Go home lo >our hovel, whereveril IS!" fiilher roared. ""Bloody Iramp!'"

""Beannat'reiighan is ihe place for you!"M. L'Estrange roared back. '"The backend of nowhere!""

""And where did you pick up the niimeL'Esirange, eh? I know who you are.Monsieur illusionist L"Estrange: "lourreal name's Barney O'Reilly, and youwere whelped and bred in a thatched cot-tage ¡n County Galway!"

"They wouldn't give you a job in thetown if there wasn't another teacher in thewhole country !"

"You «ere never in London or Paris inyour life! And your wee cheap trickswouldn't fool a blind donkey!"

""»ouVe stuck here till thediiyyoudie!"""'Mr. Barney O'Reilly—fake!""A soured old failure!"""Never put a foot in Bcannafreaghan

again or we'll set the dogs on you!'"""Don"t you worry, Boyle, " 'ou'll never

see me again.""Mother sprang between them. She

pushed father inside, into the hallway, andthen wheeled on the illusionist.

•'Get out of this place!"" She spat athim wiih a fierceness I had never seen inher before. "Get away out of here andnever darken the door again, you—you—you sham, you fake, you!"

Then she saw me standing with thehurricane lamp in my hand. "Get insideat once!" she snapped. "You should havebeen asleep hours ago."'

I did not dare to disobey, so mad wasshe. As I went by she shoved me in theback and bolted the door behind me.

Father was standing uncertainly in themiddle of the kitchen floor. He tried tolook defiantly at her.

"I told him a thing or two that heneeded to " he began.

""Get off to your bed,'" said mothersharply. '"And shame on you making ascene like that before the child."

"I told him a few home truths. I let himknow what I thought of "

"Shut up! Hasn't there been enoughsaid for one night? Go and get some sleepor you won"t be fit to go to work to-morrow."

As he lurched toward the door he triedlo wink at me. but his two eyes closed."He forgot his beautiful hat!" he said,sniggering, lifting theshabby topper downfrom behind the door.

"Run after him with it," said mother tome. "I don't want him coming back tolook for it. Run. child, run!"

That should have been my opportunity.Confused and frightened as I was with theshouting and the hate and the sickeningsight of father and M. L"Estrangc abusingeach other, a part of my mind was stilllucid, still urged me: Now. now, now! Isaw the cocoa lin on the mantelpiece; Iknew my bicycle, polished, oiled, pumped,was in the turf shed; ! thought of theDublin boarding school. But suddenly thedream that I had nursed all winter lost itsurgency, required an etTort and determi-nation I couldn't muster. If by some mir-acle mother were lo say, "Go off withM. L'Estrange, son—travel the worldwith hinî." or if M. L'Estrange were tocome back and say in his persuasive voice,"Your son and J have planned to make agrand tour i.if Ireland and England andthe whole of Europe,'" then I would have

lloiited olTwith him to drift happily Tramtheater to theater, from country to coun-try. But now 1 stood trembling, numbwith irresolution.

"Will you hurry up! He won't have gotihe length of the school yet," said mother,and I unbolted the door and ran out intothe hushed night.

I found M. L'Estrange on his handsand knees in the road below the shed. Hewas crawling toward his bicycle, whichlay spinning tivc yards beyond him. Hesmiled drunkenly up at me.

"It would appear, my friend, that mytrusty steed and I have parted company."

The moonlight gave his face the pallorof a corpse. His long, thin fingers werespread out before him like the fingers of awitch.

"You forgot your hat."""Wouid you be kind enough to lift my

bicycle for me? Once I get up nothingcan stop me. The problem is " Hehiccuped. "Pardon. The problem is tomount, if you understand what I mean."

I left the hat within his reach and wentto lift the bicycle.

Before I got to it 1 found the giant toothlying on the road. Beside it was the squareof black cloth. Furtheron I found the foursheets of cardboard, and the mask, and apacket of balloons. I picked them up andcarried them to ihe bicycle. It was thenthai I saw that the box on the carrier rackwas open and empty. The rabbit! Therabbit had escaped ! I was about lo shout,to cry out to M. L'Estnmge that h is rabbitwas gone, when I saw ii crouching by thefront wheel. Silently, cautiously, 1 tiptoedover to it. But there was no need for si-lence or caution, for it never moved. 1gathered it gently in my arms and lookedinto its face, its dull, weary eyes, mymother's eyes, stared back at me, beyondme. Had its heart not tapped against myfingertips I might have thought it wasdead, I put it in the box on top of theblack cloth and closed the lid.

M. L'Estrange was at my side. "A 11 set?Once more into the breach, dear friends,once more.'"

He was wearing the top hal now, and itsat jauntily on the side of his head. "As 1say," he went on, "once 1 get mountednothing can stop me, nothing in the wideworld." He put an arm on my shoulder tosteady himself. "As for you, my goodfriend, accept this little token from M.L'Estrange, prince of the occult."

He slipped a coin into my hand, andthen he gripped the handlebars, held thebicycle away from him and said in hisresonant voice that carried over the still,dead countryside, "An revoir!"

Then he moved off. He looked back atme to see was I watching him (I think hewanted to attempt getting up on the bi-cycle), and when he saw me looking afterhim he waved and went on walking. Abend in the road hid him from me.

In the light of the kitchen 1 saw thai hehad given me a penny. I dropped it intothe cocoa tin. Father was in bed, andmother was spooning my night porridgeinto a bowl.

"He's away, is he?"1 said he was."Sit down and take your supper," she

said. "You're famished with the cold.""He gave me half a crown!"' I blurted it

out because I thought I was going to cry."Aye?" she said, giving me a shrewd

look."And he said that he'll come to see me

in the boarding school in Dublin." Icouldn't stop myself now. "And he saidthat when I'm a man big he"ll take meaway with him and teach me all his magic,and we'll go to France and Germany andSpain and India, and we'll see the sevenseas and visit great palaces and carry red-and-gold parrots on our shoulders anddrive about in big cars and stay at grandhotels and—and—and "

Then the tearscame pouring out of me,and mother's arms went round me, and Iburied my face in her breast and sobbedmy heart out.

"And—and he was so drunk he fell offhis bicycle, and he could hardly walk. Andbut for me he would have lost his rabbitand his giant tooth and "

"There, there, there," said mother,rocking me and stroking the back of myhead. "It's all over now. It's all over. Ailover, it'll be foreolten in the morning.And before we know where we are springwillbehere, and you'll be away in Tracey'slorry to the bog to cut turf, and the birdswill come back and begin nesting "

"I told you a lie—it was a penny hegave me!"

"—and we'll bring the hive of bees upto the mountain for the heather." shewent on, as if she hadn't heard me. "Andwe'll whitewash the shed until it spar-kles—remember the fun we had lastyear?—and before we know, Íl will besummer, and we'll take the rug down tothe meadow and lie in the shade of thechestnut tree and listen to the cow eatingthe clover, and we'll take a packet of bis-cuits with us and a can of buttermilk, andwe'll have a competition to see who candrink it the quickest—remember lastyear?—and on the hottest day of sum-mer—oh, it'll be so hot it will kill us tolaugh!—we'll empty the well and climbdown into it in our bare feet, and scrub itout, and yo-ho to each other down there—remember? remember?—and we'll laughuntil we're weak, and oh, oh, the greatfun we'll have—oh, dear God, it'll be pow-erful—when the good weather comes."

I stopped crying and smiled into herbreast, because every word she said wastrue. But it wasn't because I rememberedthat it was true that I believed her, but be-cause she believed it herself, and becauseher certainty convinced me, THE END

THE BATUnDiY EVENINO POST

'What will the neighbors think?"

62