HOUDINI AT MANCHESTER.

"COME immediately, spend two days as my guest. Have arranged rooms for you at my digs--Houdini."

Such was the telegram I received from my American friend when he was performing at Manchester many years ago. It so happened that I had no important engagements at the time, and decided to accept the invitation.

When I arrived at the address Houdini had given me, my astonishment was so great that I could hardly find words to greet my host. The house was an insignificant theatrical residence, with typically cheap furniture and threadbare carpets. At first I was inclined to think I was the victim of a practical joke, for I knew that Houdini was earning well over £300 pounds a week.

"Tell me. Harry," I said at length. "Why in the name of goodness are you staying in a frowsy hole like this?"

"Frowsy? Houdini raised his eyebrows in surprise. Frowsy? Is it really now? I hadn't noticed. Anyway, Will, it doesn't matter much. The landlady is a heavenborn cook, she can dish up anything in first rate style."

And with that I had to be content. In vain did I try to persuade Houdini to change his lodgings for a good class hotel. "Appearances count nothing with me," he said. "But with some decent food inside me, I feel that all's right with the world."

The following day was Saturday, and Houdini asked me if I would care to see the show he was presenting at the Manchester Palace. I readily agreed, and was installed in a comfortable seat before the second performance.

Houdini was accorded a tremendous reception when he appeared. Following his usual procedure he performed several minor illusions prior to doing his "feature" trick, an escape from ropes and chains. When the audience had been worked up to a suitable state of excitement, he told them he was about to present "the world's greatest act," and asked if half a dozen gentlemen from the stalls would come on to the stage to secure his fastenings.

Several men stepped on to the stage, including myself. The volunteers did their work well, and Houdini was securely bound and chained. But one man with ruddy cheeks and a waxed moustache, was bent on making things uncomfortable for him. "I don't like the look of this knot," he said, "It looks as if it might slip easily."

Houdini was never happy when people found fault with his performance, and in order to avoid all public embarrassment, he instituted a system which permitted his show to proceed with its accustomed smoothness. While the disgruntled one was airing his protests, Houdini gave a secret sign to a man who was standing in the wings, well out of sight of the audience.

The confederate took the cue and smilingly beckoned to the victim. The man paused, scratched his head wonderingly, and walked off the stage. That was the last the audience saw of him. Incidentally it was the last he saw of the audience.

As soon as the unfortunate interrupter had walked well into the wings, he received a terrific cuff on the ear. In nine cases out of ten this treatment was sufficient persuasion that silence was by far the best policy at Houdini's performances. In this particular case, however, the victim showed fight. So much the worse for him.

He lashed out wildly with both fists. But from the start he was hopelessly outnumbered. Three or four of Houdini's assistants pounced on him and speedily but effectively silenced him. When the poor man had been knocked almost unconscious, he was placed beneath the stage to recover at his leisure.

As Houdini was returning to the dressing room after the performance, he was approached by the house-manager. "What in God's name have your men done to that interrupter?" he gasped. "They've half murdered him!"

"They've done what?" asked Harry, assuming innocence. "I never told them to touch him. He must have got fresh."

The battered one was brought forward for inspection. He was indeed a sorry sight. Both eyes were closed, his lips were cut. and his nose had assumed elephantine proportions. The assistants had done their work not wisely but too well. However, the magician was not in the least perturbed.

"Really, my man," he said, producing a five pound note from his pocket, "you must not upset my staff like this. I'm afraid you made them loose their tempers. However, I will discharge them. Meanwhile, George here will put you in a taxi, and send you safely home. Good night."

The note changed hands. The victim, torn between a desire to thank Houdini for the fiver and an impulse to dot him in the eye, was led away half protesting by, the smiling George.

"Well, well," said Houdini to me in his dressing room. "It's all in a lifetime, you know Will, it's all in a lifetime. By the way have you heard that story about the wife who broke her husband's nose with a flatiron...?