e fakirs climb up it and vanish from sight, and
the rope disappear after them."

Mr. Wicker waved one hand as much as to say that those who had seen it
could believe as they pleased.

"A good enough trick, in its way," condescended Mr. Wicker, "but this
rope is capable of so much more remarkable possibilities as to throw
the Indian rope trick completely in the shade."

With one of his quick gestures, Mr. Wicker reached down for the rope
and 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 to
make the most of its--shall we say?--qualities."

Mr. Wicker smiled his sardonic smile, though his eyes were snapping as
brightly as the fire.

"Now Christopher," he began, running the rope through his long, fine
hands, "just push that table and the chairs to the wall, there's a
good lad, and we shall get the stiffness out of this rope." Chris
cleared the room. "And pull the curtains, my boy," added his master,
"for one never knows but that Amos or Becky Boozer might pass by at
the crucial moment. What they do not know," murmured the magician, "is
best for them."

[Illustration]

When the room was satisfactorily arranged, and candles had been lit,
Chris returned to stand by the fireplace beside his master, who was
turning the rope lightly in his fingers.

"Now Christopher, your attention please," said the magician, and his
tone was crisp and authoritative. "Imagine that you are in need of a
boat, and there is no boat."

With several twists of his hands the rope spun out into the middle air
of 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 air
with the moving line. Even as this thought flickered in his mind, the
rope formed in mid-air the skeleton of a dingy, and then,
mysteriously, the rope added to itself until the bare struts and sides
were filled in and there, rocking lightly from the speed of its
creation, a small row-boat hovered in the air, as if it were tied up
to a dock.

"Go and feel of it, Christopher," Mr. Wicker urged. "Climb in it if
you like. I have left the two ends of the rope long enough to make
oars, if necessary."

Chris ran over and felt the sides of the boat. It was sound and
secure, no doubt of that. He went all aro