Nimble Ike, the Trick Ventriloquist: A Rousing Tale of Fun and Frolic

“You have bags of gold, and do you refuse to give me just a little?”

“Not one cent.”

“I helped you to earn that money.”

“Yes.”

“And you refuse to give me any, and you are going away?”

“I refuse to give you any and I am going away.”

The above dialogue occurred in a room on the top floor of a great tenement house, and a strangely picturesque scene was presented. An old man with frowzy hair, and deep-set eyes illuminating a dark and wrinkled face, sat by a table. Opposite to the old man was a bright-faced lad of thirteen or fourteen. The furnishings of the room were reasonably comfortable and on the table burned a flickering candle. Indeed the whole scene was weird and strange in the extreme.

The lad was kneeling on a stool and his elbows were resting on the table, and there was a serious and earnest look upon his bright face; and the shadow deepened when the old man repeated:

“Yes, I am going away and I refuse to give you anything.”

“Are you treating me right?” asked the lad, in a wistful tone of entreaty.

“Yes.”

“No, you are not. I have worked hard. I am penniless; I am but a boy, you are rich. You do not mean to leave me penniless?”

“All that you say is true. You did help me to earn the money; you did serve me well; but I have repaid you in full. I owe you nothing.”

“How so?”

“You have been my pupil; you excel your master; you are the most wonderful trick ventriloquist in the world; you will have no trouble in earning money; you can make a fortune greater than mine; you were an apt pupil. You have a better chance than I, lad, and you owe all to me. I have supported you well; I have educated you. You speak three different languages, and the man does not live in the world who can excel you as a magician or a ventriloquist. Your education and your talents are your fortune.”

“But you should give me a little money.”

“No, I need it all. Yes, I have worked hard, I have saved my money. I need it all, yes, all, for purposes of revenge.”

A moment the lad was silent and thoughtful, but at length he said:

“You promised some day to tell me about myself. You are not my father. You have told me you were in no way related to me. Who am I? What am I? Who were my parents? Where are they? You told me some day I should know all.”

“You shall.”

“Good; tell me now.”

“No, not now; some day I will tell you all. You were born in India; your parents are dead; you have relatives living. It would be of no advantage to you now to know who your relatives are; some day it may be. I will watch; if that day come you shall know all. It will be of no advantage to you to know now.”

“And you refuse to tell me?”

“I do.”

“Will you tell me my real name?”

“Your real name is Isaac. You bear my last name Andro. It is a good name and will serve you for the present. The name you have is Nimble Ike, for you are the most nimble lad in the world. I have been very careful in your instruction; the lad does not live who in every way is as accomplished as yourself.”

“And yet I will be penniless.”

“Not long will you be penniless with your talents and your experience. Remember how much you have seen of the world; remember how great has been your experience. You have visited with me every city and town of any importance in the United States. Few middle-aged men have had your experience. You are less than fourteen to-day and possess the experience and knowledge of most men of forty. You are a wonderful lad; you need never want for food or money.”

“And is that all you will tell me about myself?”

“All at present.”

“But we may never meet again.”

“Oh, yes, we will meet some day, and here is a little box. Do not open it; in fact you can only open it by smashing it, but if at any time you are sick and helpless open the box. On your honor do not open it unless, as I say, you are sick and helpless and starving. Obey me and all will be well; disobey me and trouble will overtake you. Never lose the box. String it around your neck as a charm and some day it may be of benefit to you; but the best I can wish you is that you never have occasion to smash the box.”

The old man spoke the last words in a very solemn, warning tone, and then handed a tiny little box to our hero, that could readily be strung over his heart, as a talisman, without any inconvenience.

“When do you go?” asked the lad.

“I will bid you good-by some day this week.”

“How about the things here in this room?”

“They are yours, and the rent is paid for three months. Yes, the furniture is yours.”

“Then you do give me something.”

“Yes, but no money. I need the money; but some day we will meet again and then I may have a wonderful revelation to make to you.”

“Will you leave me your address?”