CHAPTER 11
From that time on Chris and Amos were inseparable, with the exceptionof those times when Chris studied alone with Mr. Wicker. Amos, duringthese hours, soon endeared himself to Becky Boozer, to whom he becameinvaluable, for he took over those chores Chris had undertaken as hisshare. These consisted of carrying water, peeling potatoes, orwatching the roasting meat in case it should burn. For Chris had lessand less time for such jobs, and Amos's laughter and willing happynature soon made Becky spoil him as much as she did Chris.
Another cot was put into Chris's room, and night after night theywould hang out the two mansard windows, watching what went on belowuntil it was too dark to see. Or else they would talk by the light oftheir candle until they fell asleep.
Chris now knew how lonely he had been until he set Amos free from hiswooden shroud, but, warned by Mr. Wicker, he did not tell his newfriend that he came from another year as yet unreached by the timethey lived in.
"It is enough for a while," cautioned Mr. Wicker, "that Amos get usedto being limber and alive. That is change enough from a carved woodenfigure. It would only confuse and trouble him to think you do notreally belong where you are. So let him be happy. And I shall sealyour lips with regard to the secret of the Jewel Tree, for that mustbe known to no one," and so saying he rubbed a salve over Chris'slips.
"Now tell me what you are to journey after," commanded Mr. Wicker. Butwhen Chris attempted to talk of the Jewel Tree, the words would notpass his lips but remained in his mouth like a handful of marbles.
"Good," said Mr. Wicker, rubbing his hands. "Not even to me. Excellentstuff, this," he added, turning the tiny case that contained the salvein his fingers. "I got it in India years ago, and this is the last ofit. But I hardly imagine I shall need it again. Its use is somewhatdrastic, but occasionally wise."
"Mr. Wicker," Chris said thoughtfully one afternoon after his lessonsand memorizing were over for the day, "of the three things in yourshop window that I liked best, two have been explained. Yet the third,which still interests me, seems to have had, so far, no significance.I mean, of course, the rope."
"Ah yes," Mr. Wicker agreed, nodding and stretching his feet outtoward the fire, "the rope. Very well, my boy, since it has come intoyour mind again, that means that the time has come for you to discoverits use. Go and bring it to me."
Chris ran to get the coiled rope. He experienced almost a shock whenhe touched it. It had looked harsh and coarse to the touch, of roughhemp fibre, but on picking it up, the coils in his hand seemed almostsilky. Certainly they were more than usually pliable. Returning to thestudy, the boy put the rope beside Mr. Wicker's chair. The magiciandid not move, his feet still stretched comfortably towards the flames.His dark handsome face was dreamy and remote, and Chris wondered inwhat faraway place or time his teacher moved. The apprentice sat downcross-legged with his back to the fire, and presently Mr. Wicker tookhis gaze from the sparks and smoke to look thoughtfully at him.
"You have heard of the Indian rope trick, Christopher?"
"Yes--and no, sir," Chris replied. "I'm not sure how it works."
Mr. Wicker gave a chuckle. "Indeed? Well, let me tell you, my boy, noone else does either. The rope is made to go up in the air, so stifflythat the fakir--that is, the Eastern magician--can climb it. Someclaim to have seen the fakirs climb up it and vanish from sight, andthe rope disappear after them."
Mr. Wicker waved one hand as much as to say that those who had seen itcould believe as they pleased.
"A good enough trick, in its way," condescended Mr. Wicker, "but thisrope is capable of so much more remarkable possibilities as to throwthe Indian rope trick completely in the shade."
With one of his quick gestures, Mr. Wicker reached down for the ropeand was up and out of his chair, all in one movement.
"You shall learn, last of your lessons, a new way of using a lasso.Not lassoing--" Mr. Wicker held up a finger to stress his point,"that, too, you shall learn, but how to use this particular rope tomake the most of its--shall we say?--qualities."
Mr. Wicker smiled his sardonic smile, though his eyes were snapping asbrightly as the fire.
"Now Christopher," he began, running the rope through his long, finehands, "just push that table and the chairs to the wall, there's agood lad, and we shall get the stiffness out of this rope." Chriscleared the room. "And pull the curtains, my boy," added his master,"for one never knows but that Amos or Becky Boozer might pass by atthe crucial moment. What they do not know," murmured the magician, "isbest for them."
When the room was satisfactorily arranged, and candles had been lit,Chris returned to stand by the fireplace beside his master, who wasturning the rope lightly in his fingers.
"Now Christopher, your attention please," said the magician, and histone was crisp and authoritative. "Imagine that you are in need of aboat, and there is no boat."
With several twists of his hands the rope spun out into the middle airof the room. It moved and twisted like a live thing, and Mr. Wicker,Chris thought, seemed to be drawing the outline of a boat in the airwith the moving line. Even as this thought flickered in his mind, therope formed in mid-air the skeleton of a dingy, and then,mysteriously, the rope added to itself until the bare struts and sideswere filled in and there, rocking lightly from the speed of itscreation, a small row-boat hovered in the air, as if it were tied upto a dock.
"Go and feel of it, Christopher," Mr. Wicker urged. "Climb in it ifyou like. I have left the two ends of the rope long enough to makeoars, if necessary."
Chris ran over and felt the sides of the boat. It was sound andsecure, no doubt of that. He went all around it, pounding its sides,and at last heaved himself over to fall into its center. The boatnever stirred, and stamp as he would, the rope bottom and gunwalesresisted firmly.
"Gee! Mr. Wicker!" Chris exclaimed. "This is the best yet--except forAmos. Golly Moses!" and as he sat down and took up the two loose endsof rope still remaining, he found that he held not rope ends but twooars. "Even oars!" Chris cried in delight.
Mr. Wicker stood with his hands behind his back, the firelightoutlining his black clothes and neat dark head.
"Yes," he said, in a matter-of-fact voice, "Quite so. Now climb outand I will show you some of the other shapes of which it is capable. Aladder," Mr. Wicker remarked as Chris rejoined him, "is almost toosimple. We can do that at any time."
Grasping the end of one oar, with movements too fast for Chris's eyesto follow, in an instant the boat was a rope again, coiled over Mr.Wicker's arm.
"Now!" said Mr. Wicker, and his eyes twinkled with mischief. The ropeflew out again, but this time took a strange outline--the outline ofan elephant.
"It will have to be a _small_ elephant," murmured Mr. Wicker, hishands flying, "because of the size of the room."
The elephant, like the boat, took shape, the final ends of the ropehanging down at its trunk and tail. After the elephant came a horse,an eagle, and a dolphin, and Chris's admiration and zest to learn thesecrets of the rope grew with every change of shape.
"Very well," ended Mr. Wicker, "you shall learn." And placing hishands over Chris's while the boy held the rope, he began slowly toshow him the magic twists and turns.
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