 Two women patch up a 44-year-old quarrel. The mystery of the death of Chunling Su has never been solved. Looking glasses are placed on the back of the seats in Westminster Abbey. Can you imagine that? Once more, my friends, this is Lindsey McCarrie speaking to you out of the welter of amazing facts we're about to present to you. We'll return with the first one in a moment or two, and we hope you'll be with us. It's the first one of our presentations of Can You Imagine That Items for this session. It's the story of a quarrel. A quarrel which lasted for 44 years. A quarrel which separated two old friends, but it was a quarrel which neither changed the map of the world, nor lifted the crown from the head of a monarch, nor sent nations into armed conflict. It was, as quarrels go, of little consequence. But it is a good yarn, and I think you'll enjoy it. In the year 1864, little Bertha Sen, age 13, came to work for the Klotz family of Brooklyn. About the same time, 20-year-old Christina Diehl also came to work for the Klotz household. Six years later, they came to a difference of opinion and Christina quit her job. Well, not much of a story so far, is it? Well, time went on, and Bertha Sen remained as made to Mrs. Samuel Klotz. And right there, I might remark that the servant problem in the Klotz home ceased to exist, for Bertha Sen remained as made to Mrs. Klotz for 50 years. Yep, it's true. And on the 1st of May, 1914, the Klotz family gave a party to Bertha upon the occasion of her 63rd birthday. A party attended by eight grown sons and daughters of the Klotz family, whom Bertha had tended as babies. As an added surprise, and what a surprise it must have been to Bertha, the Klotz has invited 70-year-old Christina Diehl. Of course, you know the end of the story. Bertha and Christina patched up their 44-year-old quarrel and amused the Klotz household by dancing together a few steps of a dance, then coming into popularity, the tango. Can you imagine that? Well, he said that the world pities the man who wears his heart a funny sleeve. Here's a judge who pitted a man who wore his vocation up his sleeve. Away back in 1905, the day after New Year's in Milwaukee, Wisconsin, a passenger train pulls into the Northwestern Depot. Hey, hey, officer. What's the matter, conductor? This fellow's just ridden blind baggage. Oh, is that so, now? You better come along with me, young fella. Wait a minute, though. I think I'd be searching you first. Hey, hey, what's this? Two knives. Oh, but I can explain that, officer. Never mind now. You can explain to the judge. Come on. Escorting a self-assured prisoner to the courthouse, Officer McGinnis enters the courtroom of Judge Nevan and planks down two wicked-looking daggers, one about 12 inches and the other about 20 inches long. There you are, Your Honor. I found these two knives on the person of the prisoner here I did. Oh, you look like a dangerous person. What's your name? Fred Remke, Your Honor. Well, Remke, what's the idea of these knives? What do you think you're going to do with them? Swallow them. Here. But don't... What? You were going to swallow them. Yes, Your Honor. As a matter of fact, I make my living eating knives. Oh, well, I'm going to give you a chance to prove your statement. And if you can, I'll let you go. Go ahead, swallow. Well, all right. Wait till I open my collar here. There. One, two, three. I'll be tired. Order, order. Ah, that was easy. I do it all the time. All right, young man. I'll sentence you to a fine of $10 for carrying concealed weapons. Oh, but, Your Honor, I'm sentenced suspended. Next case. The hand is quicker than the eye. Thus goes the old saying about the dexterity of magicians. And here's another case where it took just that to get the two magicians out of the clutches of the law. It happened in Barrington, New Jersey. Earl Patman and Bob Hummer, two magicians, were on their way home. Hey, you two. Wait a minute. Yes, sir, officer. What's the trouble? What are you carrying in that little trunk? Well, just some of our apparatus. Well, I'm going to take a look at it. You see, officer, just apparatus. Apparatus, huh? I guess this revolver is just apparatus, huh? You guys come along with me. Oh, now wait a minute, officer. And you can't run us in like this. Oh, can't I? Well, that's just exactly what I'm going to do. Oh, now wait a minute. And protesting against the injustice, the two modern magis were led off before the local squire. Once there. You two fellas got a reason for carrying around dangerous weapons. Look, your honor, we use it in a trick. And that's right, squire. I put a bullet in the gun, and Mr. Hummer here catches it in his teeth when I fire the gun. I'm not in the mood to be kidding, you fellas. Come on. Own up to what you're doing with that revolver. It's the truth. It's the trick we do. All right, you two. If it's a trick, show me. And show the squire they did. Patman and Hummer gave an impromptu performance of the famous bullet-catching trick for an interested audience of one. And when it was over, said the squire. By golly. Discharged. Yeah, and discharged they were. Now, that bullet-catching trick has an amazing and notorious history. Most of us are apt to think of magician's tricks as being harmless, done by mechanical or manual dexterity. But that one trick has cost more than one magician his life. Can you imagine that? Probably the most famous wizard of the stage to lose his life doing the trick was Chung Ling Su, born just plain William Robinson, a scout whose amazing ability to hide his real nationality under the guise of a Chinese wonder worker, fooled world-wise newspaper men, and even real Chinese. One of Chung Ling Su's most thrilling tricks was the bullet-catching feat. A real rifle was... But wait. Let's go back to the month of March, the year 1918. The place, the stage of the Wood Green Empire Theater in London. On the stage is a colorful, magnificently-gowned company. In the center, a dignified, striking Chinese, Chung Ling Su. He strides to the footlights. His hand is raised. A sudden hush falls upon the house. When the audience realizes Chung Ling Su is about to perform the trick that took London by storm, that set tongues to his praise. Once he glances to the wings. Is he nervous? Does this daringly dangerous stunt fray even his supposedly iron nerves? Or... But wait. Listen. Ladies and gentlemen, it is my great honor to perform in my most humble and poor way a feat that has given me most undeserved fame. I shall endeavor to perform it tonight for your entertainment. The rifle. The rifle is passed for examination. Eager hands in the audience turn it over and over, hoping to catch the secret, but no secret is found. It's handed back. Once again, Chung Ling Su speaks. And for bullets to be marked by any members of this august and honorable audience. The bullet. The bullets, shockingly real and cold, are passed out. Marked, legal pellets of lead. One of which may... But wait. Again, Chung Ling Su speaks. So, the bullets which you have so kindly marked are loaded into the rifle. I take my stand at this side of the stage while my assistant takes the loaded rifle to the opposite side. Now watch, ladies and gentlemen, I shall endeavor to catch the bullets as they are fired from the gun. Should I fail, then I shall be with my ancestors this night. Ready? Each member of the audience strains forward. A few ladies in the boxes turn away. Their faces pale. Men tighten their jaws, waiting for the roar of the rifle which can send the magician into eternity. But look, is Chung Ling Su pale under his makeup? Does he have that terrible premonition that this is his last performance or still more incredible? Does he know? Now the stage is set. Chung Ling Su stands stiff and ready. He adjusts himself to face the uplifted muzzle of the rifle. Then he nods. Ah! Ah! Ring down the kakai. And Chung Ling Su fell to the floor of the stage mortally wounded. His last words ring down the curtain. Today, magicians still wonder whether Chung Ling Su planned a ghastly and cold-blooded suicide before a crowded theater. To this day, no one knows for although he pretended to be a Chinese and made up as such, he really had in his personality a strange mixture of western civilization and the inscrutability of the ageless audience. Today, we may still ask, did Chung Ling Su born William Robinson kill himself with a trick? Can you imagine that? You wouldn't think that the austere dignity of an English royal coronation would include the placing of looking glasses upon the backs of the seats in Westminster Abbey, would you? Well, it's true. It was during the coronation of George V and Queen Mary that those in charge of the ceremonies decided that too long had the coronets of the pyroces been placed upon those noble heads awry. You'll probably remember that at the moment the Queen's crown is placed upon her head, the pyroces of England placed their coronets on their heads. And so, to guarantee even more dignity, a mirror was placed in front of each seat to be occupied by a pyroce, thus enabling each noblewoman to get her coronet on straight. Can you imagine that? Well, here's the story of another old-time musical favorite and how it came to be composed. It was a good many years ago that Charlie Daniels, a young composer and musician, was traveling by railroad train to complete a most important mission. He was going to visit a young lady in a small town named Heowatha. As the train sped on across the Midwest, the click of the wheels on the rail set up a sort of sympathetic rhythm in the brain of the young man. Clickity, click, clickity, clickity, clickity, click. Heowatha, Heowatha, Heowatha. Gradually out of the even sharp rhythmic beats, a melody began forming itself. A melody Daniels knew he was destined to write in commemoration of this journey. At last, the entire song had written itself within Daniels' mind, and a few months later, the whole country was singing and dancing to it. Love you so, oh, many ha, may decide, decide and say you'll be, but he's yours, you know, the one I love you so, oh, many ha, may decide and say you'll be. Daniels, later known professionally as Neil Moray, discovered that people just weren't interested then in a song about a town of Heowatha, so he changed the lyrics to those you've just heard. But it was from the click of the train wheels on the sections of track that Charlie Daniels procured his rhythm. Can you imagine that? And that, friends, brings us to the close of another session of this series, but we'll be back with you again soon on the same station. And until then, this is Lindsay McCarrie saying, goodbye now.