FRANK VAN HOVEN--A CHANGED MAN.

THERE is nothing more annoying to the average Englishman than a disturbance at his breakfast table. It was, therefore, in no pleasant frame of mind that I left my eggs and bacon to answer the impatient ringing of the telephone bell one spring morning fifteen years ago.

"Hello," I cried as I took up the receiver. "What the deuce do you want?"

It was the secretary in my office. Mr. Frank Van Hoven had called and would like to see Mr. Goldston. He wanted to see Mr. Goldston right now. He wasn't in? Well then, perhaps the secretary would ring up Mr. Goldston and tell him to step along. Mr. Van Hoven wanted to talk big business. Yes, he would wait.

I hastily swallowed the remainder of my breakfast and took a taxi along to Leicester Square. My feeling of annoyance had given way to one of genuine pleasure. Van Hoven's reputation had preceded him from America, and I took it as no small compliment that he should visit me so shortly after he had arrived in this country.

For some time we discussed various Mutual friends in the profession. "By the way," said Van Hoven suddenly, "I've heard a deal about you in America. I want to place a big order with you. I'll take some of the stuff now. And in case I forget, you might drop into the Finsbury Park Empire to-night. I'm giving my first show in England, and I'd like you to be there. Now, about these tricks...."

He proceeded to choose a large number of illusions which he intended to take away with him. To my utter astonishment he picked on tricks that were suitable for the crudest amateurs, simple effects that delight the average schoolboy. I made no remark, however, and assisted him with his purchases to a waiting taxi.

I naturally assumed that Van Hoven intended to use the tricks in his performance that same evening. But again I was in for a surprise. The conjurer simply went through his usual foolery of smashing up ice, spilling water over his assistants, lighting innumerable candles with an endless supply of matches, and so on.

At the end of the performance, he was called on to make a speech. He thanked the audience for their great kindness, and told them how pleased he was to receive such a magnificent reception on his first appearance in England. Incidentally, he paid me a very pretty compliment.

He explained that he had bought a certain number of books and illusions from me that very morning. "They are tricks that I have always wanted," he murmured in a voice so hushed that it was difficult to hear exactly what he said. "They are lying beneath the stage now--I don't suppose I shall ever have the opportunity of giving a public performance with them. But when I first started as a magician I determined I would get those tricks. And now my wish is realised." He added a few words in praise of myself that I should blush to repeat.

"I know you are disappointed, Goldston," he said to me, a few minutes later, in his dressing room. "But I meant what I said out there on the stage. As a matter of fact, I don't know a damn thing about magic. That's one of the greatest sorrows of my life."

Truly a strange confession for a professional magician! Poor Frank! His life was something in the nature of a tragedy. His one ambition was to be an illusionist; he was cast by the hand of fate into the role of a jester. And, although in his own form of entertainment he was a wonderful success, I incline to the belief that he put himself down as one of life's failures.

I can still recollect the pathetic speech he made at the Magicians' Club. His cheery personality soon endeared itself to the members, and before he returned to America, he was presented with an illuminated address and silver casket.

"Ladies and gentlemen," he said in a broken voice, "this is the only occasion in my life I have been honoured. You have seen my performance you know it for a ridiculous burlesque. But I hope from the bottom of my heart that the day is not far distant when I shall be able to show you a genuine magical performance." That day never came.

With the passage of time, Van Hoven and I became great friends. One evening, I called on him at the Victoria Palace. He walked out from the wings accompanied by a man whom I recognized as an old assistant I had sacked for dishonesty.

"Hello. Frank," I said, extending my hand. "How's the show going?"

Van Hoven looked at me without smiling.

"I'm afraid I'm too busy to bother with you just at present, Mr. Goldston," he said. "Another time, perhaps." And, turning on his heel, he walked through to his dressing room.

To say that I was surprised would be stating things mildly. To receive a public rebuff from such an old friend was a great shock to me. And it was not until a year afterwards that an explanation was forthcoming.

Twelve months later, Van Hoven called on me, accompanied by a lady friend. My secretary intimated that I was too busy to see him. Later the same day he called alone, and told me the whole story. It appeared that my ex-assistant had told Van Hoven that I had described him as "the rottenest conjurer in the world." Such a statement was entirely untrue. Although I had no illusions as to the American's magical ability, I had never made any public statement which might have been at all damaging to his reputation.

I only saw Frank on one further occasion after that. In November, 1928, he walked into my office, and I found him strangely changed. His first action was to offer me a further apology for his conduct.

"Forget it, Frank," I said, shaking him warmly by the hand. "These little upsets in life often happen."

My companion's gaze rested on a photo of Houdini which hangs above my desk.

"Life, Will? Yes, it's a funny thing. I wonder what it all means. There's poor Houdini--he's gone. My mother died recently. That was a sad blow to me--she was a great woman."

He leaned back in his chair, wrapped in contemplation. I had not the courage to break in on his thoughts.

At last he spoke again. "Will, you know what sort of a chap I am. I've led a pretty racy life up to now, haven't I?"

"Well, er--a trifle Bohemian," I assented.

"Exactly. Women and wine. It's amusing for a time, but it's a shallow life, a rotten life. I'm changed completely. The deaths of Houdini and my mother have affected me more than any man will ever guess. Don't laugh at me, Will, but I believe I've become religious. At any rate, I'm sure there's something in religion, isn't there?" He looked at me with something akin to tears in his eyes.

"Sure," I said slowly. I felt strangely sad, for it takes no small amount of courage for a man to lay bare his soul to another.

Poor Frank. Inside three months he was dead.