English fiction -- 19th century; Short stories, English
If there was one man in college whom the rajah thoroughly and heartily
detested, it was the captain of the boat club. He had many faults; he
was very tall and powerful, and delighted in contrasting the English
physique with that of inferior races; by which he meant, among others,
the rajah's race. His manner was abrupt and overbearing, his laugh
loud and unmusical. In fact, he grated horribly on the rajah; and
it was merely the final straw when, in the exhilaration of a bump
supper,--full, as the rajah remarked in disgust, of cow and strong
drink,--he called that prince, in playful chaff, a "nigger." The rajah
swore melodiously in Hindustani, and I saw that he meant to be revenged.
In those days the entertainment of the Nebraska Loadstone created a
_furore_. Everybody went to see her, and everybody came away convinced
that she possessed marvelous powers. Her peculiar gift--but everybody
remembers the details of the performance, and how the tricks were
finally, one by one, exposed, so that her adherents and believers were
driven from one position to another, until at last they had to fall back
on one single performance out of all those that the Loadstone gave,
and maintain that on that occasion at least something unexplained
and inexplicable did really happen. It is with the events of that
particular evening that I am concerned. I think I can throw some light
on them.
At first, however, there were many believers and few skeptics. The dean
carefully pointed out that Plato nowhere denied the existence of odic
force; and the bursar, who was generally supposed to be little better
than an atheist, declared that Spencer in one passage impliedly asserted
it; even the warden, in his sermon, told us that it was better,
according to Bacon, to believe two errors than refuse one truth--which
was, to say the least of it, sitting on the fence. But none of these
authorities shook the robust skepticism of the captain of the boat club.
He knew a conjurer, and the conjurer had told him how it was done, and
he was going to expose the Loadstone.
"But why haven't you?" I urged. "She's been here a week."
"He will not be too hard on her at first," said the rajah, with a little
sneer.
"I'll bust her up this very night," said Waterer. "I would have done it
before, only I was gated."
The excuse was good, and Waterer departed, full of boastings and
self-confidence, to gather together a large number of the noisy men, and
make a pleasant party to "guy" the unhappy Loadstone. I stayed to smoke
a pipe with the rajah.
"Of course she's a fraud," said he; "and I believe that animal really
has got hold of the right explanation."
"I shall go and see it," I announced.
After a moment's silent smoking, the rajah looked up with a twinkle in
his eye. "So shall I--if niggers are admitted."
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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