These “implements” were of a heterogeneous character, but all would come in use in the evening. A number of boys watched their transfer with mingled awe and curiosity. “What’s them?” Harry heard one ask another, in a half-whispered tone. “Those,” said the professor, in an impressive tone, turning toward the boys. “Those are paraphernalia!” The boys looked more awestruck than ever. All inwardly resolved to go to the Town Hall that evening, and get a nearer view of the articles which had such a grand name. After a while Harry came downstairs from the room assigned him, and stood on the piazza. One of the boys drew near him cautiously. “Are you the magician’s son?” he asked. “No,” answered Harry, smiling. “Do you come from Madagascar?” “I have not been there recently.” “Are all the people there magicians?” “Not quite all.” This information was rather scanty, but it was whispered about among the boys, the first boy boasting that he had a talk with the young man magician. If Harry had heard himself called thus, he would have been very much amused. Directly after supper Harry went with his employer to assist in preparing the stage for the evening performance. Though novice, he acquitted himself to the satisfaction of his employer, who congratulated himself on having secured so efficient an assistant. Half an hour before the performance he stationed himself in the entry, provided with tickets. He sat at a small table, and received the crowd. Though new to the business, he managed to make change rapidly. He found his position one in which he had a chance to study human nature. During the evening Harry was called upon to assist the professor in some of his tricks. Some boys would have been embarrassed upon finding themselves objects of general attention, but Harry was by temperament cool and self-possessed. He had been fond of declamation at school, and this had accustomed him, to some extent, to a public appearance. The entertainment was in two parts, with an intermission of ten minutes. “I wish you were a singer,” said the professor, when they were standing behind the screen. “Why?” asked Harry. “Because the audience sometimes gets impatient during the intermission. If I could put you on for a song, it would help quiet them.” “I can sing a little,” said Harry, modestly. “What can you sing?” “How would ‘The Last Rose of Summer’ do?” “Capital. Can you sing it?” “I can try.” “You are sure you won’t break down? That would make a bad impression.” “I can promise you I won’t break down, sir.” “Then I’ll give you a trial. Are you ready to appear at once?” “Yes, sir.” “Wait, then, till I announce you.”