{"collection":"folklore-oral-tradition","full_text_available":true,"graph_url":"https://unchartedknowledge.5gfusion.net/v2/api/page/gutenberg_34423/graph","html_url":"https://unchartedknowledge.5gfusion.net/v2/page/gutenberg_34423","id":"gutenberg_34423","license":"Public Domain (US)","rights_basis":"gutenberg_metadata_copyright_false","source":"gutenberg","source_url":"https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/34423","summary":null,"tags":["Category: Humour","Category: Novels","Category: Science-Fiction & Fantasy","Fairy tales -- Parodies, imitations, etc.","Short stories, American"],"text":"</pre>\n\nE-text prepared by Annie McGuire from scanned images of public domain\nmaterial generously made available by the Google Books Library Project\n(http://books.google.com/)\n\n\n\nNote: Project Gutenberg also has an HTML version of this\n      file which includes the original illustrations.\n      See 34423-h.htm or 34423-h.zip:\n      (https://www.gutenberg.org/cache/epub/34423/pg34423-images.html)\n      or\n      (https://www.gutenberg.org/files/34423/34423-h.zip)\n\n\n      Images of the original pages are available through\n      the the Google Books Library Project. See\n      http://books.google.com/books?id=WmoCAAAAYAAJ&printsec=frontcover#v=onepage&q&f=false\n\n\n\n\n\nJACK AND THE CHECK BOOK\n\nby\n\nJOHN KENDRICK BANGS\n\nIllustrated by Albert Levering\n\n\n[Illustration: THE WISH BROUGHT ABOUT THE MOST ASTONISHING RESULTS--See\npage 54]\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\nHarper & Brothers\nNew York and London\n1911\n\nCopyright, 1911, by Harper & Brothers\n\n\n\n\nCONTENTS\n\n\n  CHAP.                                                             PAGE\n    I. JACK AND THE CHECK-BOOK                                         1\n   II. THE GREAT WISH SYNDICATE                                       36\n  III. PUSS, THE PROMOTER                                             74\n   IV. THE GOLDEN FLEECE                                             115\n    V. THE INVISIBLE CLOAK                                           157\n   VI. THE RETURN OF ALADDIN                                         195\n\n\n\n\nILLUSTRATIONS\n\n\n  THE WISH BROUGHT ABOUT THE MOST ASTONISHING RESULTS     _Frontispiece_\n  THE BEANS SCATTERED IN EVERY DIRECTION                               7\n  THE OGRE COLLAPSED IN HIS CHAIR                                     23\n  \"BLESS YOU, MY CHILDREN!\"                                           27\n  \"A WEEK'S VACATION IN LITTLE OLD NEW YORK\"                          31\n  WITHIN THE ANCIENT HOUSE SAT THE OWNER, RICHARD WILBRAHAM           39\n  \"BALLYHACK! LAST STATION----ALL OUT!\"                               51\n  WILBRAHAM PAID BEFORE LEAVING THE COURT-ROOM                        71\n  \"I SUPPOSE I COULD SELL YOU, BILL\"                                  79\n  \"TELL 'EM TO TELL MR. BONDIFELLER THAT I AM TOO BUSY TO SEE HIM\"    87\n  \"GOOD-BYE, JACK\"                                                    93\n  \"THE HANDSOMEST TOWER IN THE WORLD\"                                 99\n  \"COULDN'T MAKE IT THREE MILLION, COULD YOU?\" SUGGESTED MR. DOBBINS 107\n  \"WHAT DO YOU THINK YOU ARE DOING?\"                                 121\n  \"THERE'S THE MONEY, SIR\"                                           131\n  POOR GASMERILDA SAT WHITE-FACED                                    137\n  \"I AM YOUR FAIRY GODMOTHER, GASMERILDA\"                            141\n  \"THIS IS THE GREATEST CINCH IN THE HISTORY OF FINANCE\"             149\n  \"DERE ISS SOMEDINGS IN DOT SEADT, ALRETTY YET!\"                    169\n  \"THERE MUST BE SOMETHING THE MATTER WITH MY NERVES\"                175\n  \"HUMPH!\" SAID SHE, SCORNFULLY                                      199\n  \"THIS IS A HALF-PORTION, SIR,\" SAID SAMBO                          207\n  \"YOU RUBBED THE LAMP, I BELIEVE?\"                                  213\n  \"WHAT DOES THIS MEAN?\" THEY DEMANDED                               231\n\n\n\n\nJACK AND THE CHECK-BOOK\n\n\n\n\nI\n\n\nOnce upon a time a great many years ago there lived a poor woman who,\nhaving invested all her savings in mining shares, was soon brought to\npenury and want. She had bought her modest little home and all there was\nin it on the instalment plan, and here she was, upon a certain beautiful\nmorning in late spring, absolutely penniless, and three days off,\nstaring her in the face, were payments due on the piano, the kitchen\nrange and even on the house itself. Moreover, the winter had been a\nbitter one. Four times had the water-pipes frozen and burst, and a\nplumber's bill of appalling magnitude had come in the morning's mail,\nwith the stern admonition stamped in red letters at the bottom:\n\n  LONG PAST DUE.\n  PLEASE REMIT.\n\nThe unhappy woman was at her wit's ends to know what to do. She had\ntried to sell her shares in \"Amalgamated War-whoop,\" only to find that\nthat once promising company had passed into the hands of a receiver, and\nthat there was an assessment, amounting to four times their face value,\ndue on the shares, so that every possible purchaser to whom she applied\nrefused to take the stock off her hands unless she paid them five\ndollars a share for the service and would guarantee them against the\nchance of further loss. All other means of raising the necessary\nfunds--and she had tried them all--proved equally futile. The\nsavings-banks would not lend her a penny on a house of which the parlor\nfloor alone was clear of obligation, and the threat of the piano people\nto remove that instrument if the March instalment, now a month over-due,\nwas not immediately forthcoming rendered that both unsalable and\nvalueless as security for a loan.\n\n[Illustration]\n\nShe sat, the perfect picture of hopeless despair, in her rocking-chair,\ngazing moodily out of the window, thinking dreadful thoughts, and, it\nmay be, contemplating the alternative of suicide or marriage with the\nvillage magnate, a miserable villain whom everybody detested, and who,\neverybody knew very well, had been instrumental in the ruin of her\ndeceased husband, a once prosperous haberdasher. But on a sudden her\nlook of despair faded wholly away and a great light of happiness\nillumined her eyes, as up the garden path, whistling merrily as he\nstrode along, came her son Jack, a lad of fifteen, the comfort and\nsolace of her lonely days.\n\n\"Dear boy!\" she murmured softly to herself as he waved his hand at her,\n\"he is the only thing I have left that there isn't something due on.\"\n\nThe boy, entering the room, still whistling, flung his cap up on the\ntable and kissed his mother affectionately.\n\n\"Well, mother,\" he said, joyously, \"our troubles are over at last.\"\n\nHer face beamed an eager inquiry. The sudden, overwhelming happiness of\nthe news itself deprived her of the power of speech for a moment, and\nthen with difficulty she gasped out the words:\n\n\"Then you have secured a place with steady wages, my son?\"\n\nHer heart beat wildly as she awaited the answer.\n\n\"No, mother,\" he replied, promptly. \"The only position open to me was\nthat of private secretary to old Jonas Bilkins, my father's enemy, and\nwhen he found out that I was my father's son he fired me out of his\noffice.\"\n\n\"No wonder!\" muttered the woman. \"He didn't dare let you have access to\nhis private papers. He knows that every penny he calls his own belongs\nby right to us, and once you got hold of his letter-files and secret\ndocuments you could prove it.\"\n\n[Illustration]\n\n\"So he said, mother dear,\" said the boy. \"He was brutally frank about\nit, and when I told him what I thought of him, and advised him to pick\nout a nice, comfortable jail to spend his declining years in, he threw\nhis check-book at my head.\"\n\n\"The miserable villain!\" groaned the old lady. \"Did it hit you?\"\n\n\"No, indeed,\" laughed Jack. \"My baseball training helped me out there. I\ncaught it on the fly and have brought it home with me. Meanwhile, I have\nsold the cow.\"\n\n\"You have?\" cried the delighted mother, clasping him warmly in her arms.\n\n\"Yes,\" said Jack, proudly. \"We need not go hungry to-day, mother. I\nswapped her off for a pot of beans.\"\n\n[Illustration: THE BEANS SCATTERED IN EVERY DIRECTION]\n\nAn awful, despairing silence followed this announcement. The old lady\nloved her son beyond everything in the world, but this was too much even\nfor a mother's love. The idea that a first-class Jersey cow worth not\nless than forty-five dollars regarded merely as raw material for the\ntable, and not taking into account her value as a producer of rich,\ncreamy milk, should have been bartered for a miserable pot of beans, and\ndoubtless pickled beans at that, was the last straw of misfortune that\nbroke the back of the Camel of Maternal Patience, and with certain\nphrases of a forceful nature she seized the pot from her son's trembling\nhand and flung it with such impetus against the garden wall that it was\nshattered into countless fragments, and the beans scattered in every\ndirection. After this attack of rage she took to her bed, weeping\nbitterly. Jack too, stunned by his kind mother's wrath, retired to his\nlittle cot in the attic, and sought relief from his troubles and the\ngnawing pangs of hunger in sleep.\n\nBut lo and behold! the following morning a strange thing had happened.\nJack, upon waking early, found his once sunny window obscured by a heavy\ngrowth of leaves, and on dressing rapidly and going into the garden to\nsee what had caused this strange condition of affairs, was surprised to\nfind a splendid bean-stalk sprung up during the night, and, what was\nstill more wonderful, still springing, moving rapidly upward like the\nescalator he had once seen upon the elevated railway in New York when\nwith his father he had visited that wonderful city to inspect the spring\nand autumn styles for the haberdashery.\n\nHe gazed at it in wondering amazement, and then the silence was broken.\n\"All aboard for Ogreville!\" cried a squeaky little voice from behind one\nof the branches. \"Step lively, please! All aboard!\"\n\nJack, nothing loath for a new experience, immediately seated himself\nastride one of the rapidly rising tendrils, and soon found himself\nsoaring in the upper air, far, far above the earth, upon what he came\nsubsequently to call his \"Aero-Bean.\"\n\n\"Well, we have you at last,\" said the squeaky little voice from behind\nthe leaves, pleasantly. \"You may not remember it, my lad, but you once\ngave up your strap on a subway train to a tired-looking woman and she\nhas never forgotten your kindness. It so happens that she was Queen of\nthe Fairies, and later on she became Chairman of the Board of Directors\nof the United States Fairy Corporation of Wall Street. You are now about\nto receive your reward. You have Major Bilkins's check-book with you?\"\n\n\"Yes,\" said Jack. \"He threw it at me yesterday, and I've had it ever\nsince.\"\n\n\"Good!\" said the squeaky little voice. \"What is the old man's balance?\"\n\n\"Three million five hundred and seventy-five thousand four hundred and\nfifty-seven dollars,\" said Jack, reading off the figures slowly, and\ngasping at the thought of anybody's having so much money as that on\nhand.\n\n\"H'm!\" said the squeaky little voice. \"It is rather less than I had\nthought. However, we can fix that without much trouble. Zeros are\ncheap. Just add six of them to that balance.\"\n\n\"Do you mean add or affix?\" asked Jack.\n\n\"Affix is what I should have said,\" replied the squeaky little voice.\n\"Get out your fountain pen and tag 'em on.\"\n\nJack immediately obeyed.\n\n\"Now what does it come to?\" asked the little voice.\n\n\"Three trillion five hundred and seventy-five billion four hundred and\nfifty-seven million dollars,\" stammered Jack, his eyes bulging with\namazement.\n\n\"That's better,\" laughed the little voice. \"Thus you see, my boy, how\neasy it is to make much out of a little if you only know how. Three and\na half trillions is a pretty tidy bit of pocket-money for a boy of your\nage. So be careful how you use it, my son. Use it wisely, and all will\nbe well with you.\"\n\nAs the voice spoke these words the growing stalk came to a sudden stop,\nand the voice added:\n\n\"Ogreville! Last stop! All out!\"\n\nThe boy stepped off the stalk, and found himself in a magnificently\nbroad and fertile country. Great fields of waving grain, numberless\npasturages filled with prize cattle of all sorts, surrounded him on\nevery hand. Trees heavily laden with rare fruits bordered the highways,\nand everything everywhere bore unmistakable evidences of a rare\nprosperity.\n\n\"Phe-e-ew!\" whistled Jack, blinking with joy at all he saw before him.\n\"This looks like the land of milk and honey all right. And only twenty\nminutes by bean-car from New York! What a chance for corner lots, and an\neasy suburb for business men!\"\n\nThe lad wandered along for a while, rejoicing in all the beauties of the\nwondrous scene, when, coming to a turn in the magnificently laid road,\nhe perceived not far ahead of him a splendidly built castle, much\nresembling a famous city hotel he had once passed on a sight-seeing\ncoach, and, remembering on a sudden that he had had no breakfast, he\nwalked boldly up to the main entrance and knocked on the massive bronze\ndoor. A beautiful young girl about his own age answered the summons.\n\n\"I don't know if this is a hotel,\" said Jack, politely, \"but if it is,\nmight I get a bite here?\"\n\n\"I fear you might if my stepfather should happen to see you,\" replied\nthe girl with a shudder, her face mantling with a deep luscious red, the\nlike of which Jack had never seen anywhere save on the petal of a rose\nor the cheek of a cherry.\n\nThe silvery tones of her voice thrilled him.\n\n\"Thank you,\" he said, stepping into the hallway through the open door.\n\"I shall be very glad to meet your stepfather, and if, while I am\nwaiting, I might have a couple of scrambled eggs and a cup of coffee--\"\n\n\"Oh, go! Do not stay here!\" pleaded the girl. \"Please go!\"\n\n\"I go?\" laughed Jack. \"And leave you? Never!\"\n\n\"But you do not understand,\" trembled the girl. \"My stepfather is an\nogre, and he eats--\"\n\n\"I only understand one thing,\" said Jack, valiantly. \"And that is that I\nlove you with all my heart. I don't care if your stepfather eats--\"\n\n\"For my sake then, go!\" pleaded the girl. \"I too am not unsusceptible to\nthe dart of love, and for the first time I look upon a spirit I could\nhonor and obey, but--\"\n\n\"Then it is love at first sight for both of us,\" said Jack, folding her\nin his arms.\n\nIt was indeed a blissful moment for both, but alas! it was more than\nfleeting, for suddenly there came from an inner room off the great\ncorridor a terrific voice, roaring:\n\n  \"FEE-FO-FI-FOY!\n  I SMELL THE BLOOD OF A HIGH-SCHOOL BOY.\n  BE HE REAL OR BE HE FAKE\n  I'LL GRIND HIS BONES FOR A BUCKWHEAT CAKE.\"\n\n\"Oho!\" cried Jack, springing back. \"I think I've heard something like\nthat before. This is not a hotel, but the castle of that child-eating\nogre--\"\n\n\"The very same!\" cried the girl, her face blanching with terror. \"And,\nwhat is worse, he hasn't had a boy to eat for three weeks. If you truly\nlove me, I beg you will fly at once.\"\n\n\"Sorry to be disobliging, but I can't fly, my beloved. I've left my\naeroplane at home. In short, my dear--er--er--what is your name,\nsweetheart?\"\n\n\"Beanhilda,\" replied the blushing girl.\n\n\"In short, my dear Beanhilda,\" Jack resumed, \"having no wings, I cannot\nfly.\"\n\n\"Alas!\" cried the girl, bursting into floods of tears as the ogre\nsuddenly appeared in the hallway, and seizing Jack by the collar of his\ncoat held him high in the air between his thumb and forefinger. \"Alas!\nit is too late. I shall never get a fiance past step-papa's\nbreakfast-table!\"\n\n\"No, my child,\" grinned the ogre, smacking his lips hungrily. \"It is not\ntoo late. He is just in time. I have been wanting a couple of poached\nboys on toast for three solid weeks, and the butcher has just telephoned\nme that there isn't a fresh kid to be had for love or money in any of\nthe markets.\"\n\n\"I am sorry to disappoint you, Mr. Ogre,\" said Jack, as calmly as he\ncould under the trying circumstances, \"but I won't poach well. I'm\nhalf-back on our high-school eleven, and, as a matter of fact, am known\nas the toughest lad in my native town.\"\n\nA shadow of disappointment crossed the ogre's face.\n\n\"Confound football!\" he growled. \"I haven't managed to get a tender boy\nsince the season opened.\"\n\n\"Moreover,\" said Jack, seeing that the time for strategy had arrived, \"I\ndidn't come here for your breakfast, I came for mine.\"\n\n\"By Jove, you shall have it!\" cried the ogre, slapping the table with\nhis fists so hard that the platters and glasses upon its broad surface\njumped up and down. \"I like nerve, and you are the only kid I've caught\nin forty years that didn't begin to yell like mad the minute I grabbed\nhim. We'll keep you here and feed you on the fat of the land, until you\nhave sort of softened up. Sit down, sir, and have your fill. Beanhilda,\nget the lad a cup of coffee.\"\n\nThe ogre placed Jack in a high-chair at his side, and they breakfasted\ntogether like two old cronies, the fair Beanhilda waiting upon them, and\nwith every passing moment convincing Jack, by her grace, beauty, and\namiability, of the solid fact that he loved her ardently. It was a\nterrible sight to see the ogre swallow a whole lamb at one bite, taking\nit up by its tail and dropping it into his mouth as if it were no more\nthan a stalk of asparagus, and consuming not less than fifty-seven\nvarieties of breakfast food, boxes, wrapping, premiums and all at one\nspoonful, but the lad's nerve never deserted him for a moment, and he\nchatted away as pleasantly as though breakfasting with ogres was one of\nthe accustomed operations of his every-day life.\n\n\"This is a great place you have here, Mr. Ogre,\" he remarked, sipping\nhis coffee slowly. \"Of course, it isn't quite as rich and fertile as my\nown little place up in Vermont, and your cattle, though evidently of\nfine breed, are hardly what Montana ranch-men would consider first\nclass. Still--\"\n\nThe ogre stopped eating and looked at the speaker with considerable\nsurprise.\n\n\"You mean to say you can beat this place of mine anywhere?\" he\ndemanded.\n\n\"Well,\" said Jack, amiably, \"of course I don't mean to criticise this\nbeautiful country. It is very beautiful in its own way, and there is\nsome evidence of wealth here. I was only saying that next to my place it\ncomes pretty near to being the finest I ever saw.\"\n\n\"I guess you'd go a good many miles before you'd see a castle like\nmine,\" said the ogre, with a proud glance around him.\n\n\"I haven't seen your castle yet, sir,\" said Jack. \"But this little\nbungalow we are in strikes me as about as cute and comfy a cozy-corner\nas I've visited in a month of Sundays.\"\n\n\"Bungalow?\" roared the giant. \"You don't call this a bungalow, do you?\"\n\n\"Why, yes,\" said Jack. \"It certainly isn't a tent, or a chicken-coop, or\na tool-house, is it? It's mighty comfy anyhow, whatever you call it. I\nwouldn't mind owning it myself.\"\n\nA glitter came into the ogre's eyes. If this young man were merely\nbluffing now was the time to call him.\n\n\"Oh, as for that,\" said the ogre, with a sarcastic laugh, \"you can own\nit--that is, you can if you can pay for it. I'll sell.\"\n\nHere he winked at the butler as much as to say, \"Now we'll see him\nflop.\" But Jack had no intention of flopping.\n\n\"Really?\" he said, with a great show of enthusiasm. \"Well, this is fine.\nI hadn't the slightest idea the place was in the market, but if we can\nget together on a figure, I might be tempted. How much?\"\n\n\"What would you say to $2,500,000?\" demanded the ogre, with a grim\nsmile.\n\n\"Done!\" said Jack. \"And cheap at the price.\"\n\nHere he drew out the check-book, and drew a check for the full amount to\nthe order of William J. Ogre, Esq., which he tossed across the table to\nthe amazed giant.\n\n\"There's your money,\" he said. \"Fork over the deeds.\"\n\nThe ogre rubbed his eyes, and almost stopped breathing for a moment.\n\n\"H'm!\" he muttered, inspecting the check closely. \"This looks pretty\ngood to me. What kind of a book is that, young man?\"\n\n\"That?\" laughed Jack. \"Oh, that's what we call the magic check-book. It\nis the kind that all our big financiers use--Mr. Rockernegie, Colonel\nMidas, and John Jacob Rothschild, and all the rest of them. It is merely\nan ingenious financial contrivance that enables us to avoid contact with\nactual money, which is not only vulgar and dangerous to carry in large\nquantities, but in some cases is full of germs.\" The lad went on and\nexplained to the ogre just how checks were drawn and presented for\npayment.\n\n\"It's a pretty nice sort of an arrangement, that,\" said the ogre, very\nmuch interested, \"but suppose you draw out your whole balance, what\nthen?\"\n\n\"All you have to do is to affix a half dozen ciphers to the remainder\nbefore you start the overdraft,\" said Jack. \"For instance, on my way\nup here this morning I found that the balance on hand was only\n$3,575,457, so, feeling that I should be more comfortable with just a\nlittle more ready money to carry me along, I added those six ciphers you\nsee on the right-hand side of the figures, bringing the balance up to\n$3,575,457,000,000. If you will examine the ciphers under a microscope,\nsir, you will note that they have only recently been entered.\"\n\n\"By thunder!\" roared the ogre, glaring at the book enviously. \"This is\none of the marvels of the age. Why, armed with a book like that you can\nbuy anything in sight!\"\n\n\"If the other man will sell,\" said Jack. \"By-the-way, would you mind if\nI lit my after-breakfast cigarette?\"\n\n\"Go ahead! Go ahead! Do anything you darn please,\" said the ogre, gazing\nat him with wonder.\n\nJack thereupon drew a check for $500,000, tore it from the book, and\nrolled it into a small cylinder, which he filled with some corn-silk he\nhad in his pocket, and then lit it with another check for a similar\namount.\n\nThe ogre's eyes nearly popped out of his head at such a marvellous\nexhibition of resources.\n\n\"It makes an expensive smoke,\" smiled Jack, settling back to the\nenjoyment of the cigarette, \"but after all, as long as I have the money,\nwhy not enjoy myself? Will you join me?\"\n\nHe took up his pen as though to make another.\n\n\"No, no, no!\" cried the ogre, walking agitatedly up and down the floor.\n\"I--er--I'm afraid it's too soon after breakfast for me. Do you mean to\ntell me that such an inexhaustible treasure as this really exists?\"\n\n\"There it is, right before your eyes,\" said Jack. \"Suppose we test it.\nThink of a large sum of money, tell me what it is, and see if I can't go\nyou a dollar better.\"\n\n\"Four hundred millions!\" cried the ogre, impulsively.\n\n\"Piker!\" ejaculated Jack, with a smile, as he drew his check for\n$400,000,001.\n\n\"A billion and a half!\" cried the ogre.\n\n\"Now you're beginning to get your pace,\" laughed Jack. \"There's my\ncheck, sir, for $1,500,000,001, according to specifications.\"\n\n\"That reduces your balance some, though,\" said the ogre.\n\n\"Yes,\" said Jack. \"It reduces it by $1,900,000,002, leaving me with only\n$3,573,574,999,998 on hand, but if I affix six ciphers to that, as I\nwill now proceed to do, I have, as the figures conclusively show,\n$3,575,574,999,998,000,000, or about a squillion more than I had before\nI began to draw.\"\n\n[Illustration: THE OGRE COLLAPSED IN HIS CHAIR]\n\nThe ogre collapsed in his chair. The magnitude of these figures appalled\nhim.\n\n\"Great glory!\" he cried. \"I didn't know there was that much money in the\nworld. Can--can anybody work that book?\"\n\n\"Anybody who comes by it honestly and without trickery,\" said Jack. \"Of\ncourse, if a man gets hold of it in an unscrupulous way, or goes back on\nhis bargain, it's as valueless to him as so much waste paper.\"\n\nThe ogre strode up and down the room, filled with agitation. He had\nthought to trick the boy out of his wonderful possession--in fact, to\nswallow him whole and then appropriate his treasure, but Jack's\nexplanation put an entirely new phase on the matter.\n\n\"I suppose you wouldn't part with that book?\" he finally asked.\n\n\"Yes,\" said Jack. \"I'll let you have it if you will transfer all your\nproperty irrevocably to your stepdaughter, Beanhilda, and give me her\nhand in marriage.\"\n\n\"It's a bargain!\" gulped the ogre, whereupon he summoned his lawyers and\nhis secretaries, and by noon all his possessions had passed beyond\nrecall into the hands of Beanhilda. A special messenger was sent down\nthe bean-stalk to fetch Jack's mother, and that afternoon the happy lad\nand the fair Princess of Ogreville were married with much pomp and\nceremony.\n\n[Illustration: \"BLESS YOU, MY CHILDREN!\"]\n\n\"Bless you, my children!\" murmured the ogre, as the irrevocable words\nwere spoken by the priest, and Jack passed the magic check-book over to\nits new owner. \"May you live long and happily. As for me, I'm off for a\nweek's vacation in little old New York.\"\n\n[Illustration: \"A WEEK'S VACATION IN LITTLE OLD NEW YORK\"]\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\n\"How did you manage it, sweetheart?\" whispered Beanhilda in her\nhusband's ear a few weeks later. \"Step-papa had such a penchant for\nhard-boiled boys that I feared you were lost the moment he appeared.\"\n\nJack explained the whole history of the magic check-book to her, but\nwhen he had done, his bride grew white.\n\n\"But what if he comes back?\" she cried, shuddering with fear. \"His\nvengeance will be terrible.\"\n\n\"Have no fear, Beanhilda,\" Jack answered. \"He will not return. Read\nthat.\"\n\nAnd he handed her an evening paper in which, with rapidly drying eyes,\nshe read the following:\n\nSEVENTY-FIVE YEARS FOR PASSING BAD CHECKS\n\n     William J. Ogre, claiming to be a prominent resident of\n     Ogreville, who was arrested at the St. Gotham Hotel last\n     Thursday afternoon on a charge of having passed a dozen\n     bogus checks for amounts ranging from ten to fifteen\n     thousand dollars apiece, was found guilty yesterday by a\n     jury in the criminal branch of the United States Circuit\n     Court. He was sentenced to fifteen years' imprisonment at\n     hard labor in the Federal Prison at Thomasville, Georgia, on\n     each of the five different counts, making his prison term in\n     all not less than seventy-five years. Other indictments are\n     still pending against him for forgery on the complaint of\n     Major Bilkins, president of the Suburban Trust Company, of\n     whose name he was found availing himself in his criminal\n     transactions. Major Bilkins, when seen last night by a\n     reporter of this paper, stated his intention of keeping the\n     shameless operator in jail for the rest of his natural life.\n\n\"I shouldn't sit up for papa if I were you, Beanhilda,\" said Jack, with\na smile. \"It looks to me as if he was going to be detained down-town\nlate on business.\"\n\nAnd the young couple lived happily forever after.\n\n\n\n\nII\n\nTHE GREAT WISH SYNDICATE\n\n\nThe farm had gone to ruin. On every side the pastures were filled with a\nrank growth of thistles and other thorn-bearing flora. The farm\nbuildings had fallen into a condition of hopeless disrepair, and the old\nhouse, the ancestral home of the Wilbrahams, had become a place of\nappalling desolation. The roof had been patched and repatched for\ndecades, and now fulfilled none of the ideals of its roofhood save that\nof antiquity. There was not, as far as the eye could see, a single whole\npane of glass in any one of the many windows of the mansion, and there\nwere not wanting those in the community who were willing to prophesy\nthat in a stiff gale--such as used to be prevalent in that section of\nthe world, and within the recollection of some of the old settlers\ntoo--the chimneys, once the pride of the county, would totter and fall,\nbringing the whole mansion down into chaos and ruin. In short, the\none-time model farm of the Wilbrahams had become a by-word and a jest\nand, as some said, of no earthly use save for the particular purposes of\nthe eccentric artist in search of picturesque subject-matter for his\nstudies in oil.\n\n[Illustration: WITHIN THE ANCIENT HOUSE SAT THE OWNER, RICHARD\nWILBRAHAM]\n\nIt was a wild night, and within the ancient house sat the owner, Richard\nWilbraham, his wife not far away, trying to find room upon her husband's\nlast remaining pair of socks to darn them. Wilbraham gazed silently into\nthe glowing embers on the hearth before them, the stillness of the\nevening broken only by the hissing of the logs on the andirons and an\noccasional sigh from one of the watchers.\n\nFinally the woman spoke.\n\n\"When does the mortgage fall due, Richard?\" she asked, moving uneasily\nin her chair.\n\n\"To-morrow,\" gulped the man, the word seeming to catch in his throat and\nchoke him.\n\n\"And you--you are sure Colonel Digby will not renew it?\" she queried.\n\n\"He even declines to discuss the matter,\" said Wilbraham. \"He contents\nhimself with shaking it in my face every time I approach his office,\nwhile he tells his office-boy to escort me to the door. I don't believe\nin signs, Ethelinda, but I do believe that that is an omen that if the\nmoney is not forthcoming at noon to-morrow you and I will be roofless by\nthis time to-morrow night.\"\n\nThe woman shuddered.\n\n\"But, Richard,\" she protested, \"you--you had put by the money to pay\nit long ago. What has become of it?\"\n\n\"Gone, Ethelinda--gone in that ill-advised egg deal I tried to put\nthrough two years ago,\" sighed Wilbraham, as he buried his face in his\nhands to hide his grief and mortification. \"I sold eggs short,\" he\nadded. \"You remember when that first batch of incubator hens began\nlaying so prolifically--it seemed to me as though Fortune stared me in\nthe face--nay, held out her hands to me and bade me welcome to a share\nin her vast estates. There was a great shortage of eggs in the market\nthat year, and I went to New York and sold them by the dozens--hundreds\nof dozens--thousands of dozens--\"\n\nHe rose up from his chair and paced the floor in an ecstasy of\nagitation. \"I sold eggs by the million, Ethelinda,\" he went on, by a\ngreat effort regaining control of himself. \"Eggs to be laid by hens\nwhose great-great-great-grandmothers had yet to be hatched from eggs\nyet unlaid by unborn chickens.\"\n\nWilbraham's voice sank to a hoarse, guttural whisper.\n\n\"And the deliveries have bankrupted me,\" he muttered. \"The price of eggs\nhas risen steadily for the past eighteen months, and yesterday a hundred\nthousand of January, strictly fresh, that I had to buy in the open\nmarket in order to fill my contracts, cost me not only my last penny,\nbut were in part paid for with a sixty-day note that I cannot hope to\nmeet. In other words, Ethelinda, we are ruined.\"\n\nThe woman made a brave struggle to be strong, but the strain was too\nmuch for her tired nerves and she broke down and wept bitterly.\n\n\"We have but four hens left,\" Wilbraham went on, speaking in a hollow\nvoice. \"At most, working them to their full capacity, in thirty days\nfrom now we shall have only ten dozen eggs added to our present store,\nand upon that date I have promised to deliver to the International Cold\nStorage Company one thousand dozen at twenty-two and a half cents a\ndozen. Even with the mortgage out of the way we should still be securely\nbound in the clutch of bankruptcy.\"\n\nA long silence ensued. The clock out in the hall ticked loudly, each\nclicking sound falling upon Wilbraham's ears like a sledge-hammer blow\nin a forge, welding link by link a chain of ruin that should forever\nbind him in the shackles of misery. Unbroken save by the banging now and\nthen of a shutter in the howling wind without, the silence continued for\nnearly an hour, when the nerve-killing monotony of the ceaseless\n\"tick-tock, tick-tock\" of the clock was varied by a resounding hammering\nupon the door.\n\n\"It is very late,\" said the woman. \"Who do you suppose can be calling at\nthis hour? Be careful when you open the door--it may be a highwayman.\"\n\n\"I should welcome a highwayman if he could help me to find anything in\nthe house worth stealing,\" said Wilbraham, as he rose from his chair and\nstarted for the door. \"Whoever it may be, it is a wild night, and\ndespite our poverty we can still keep open house for the stranger on the\nmoor.\"\n\nHe hastened to the door and flung it wide.\n\n\"Who's there?\" he cried, gazing out into the blackness of the storm.\n\nA heavy gust of wind, icy cold, blew out his candle, and a great mass of\nsleet coming in with it fell with a dull, sodden thud on the floor at\nhis feet, and some of it cut his cheek.\n\n\"I am a wanderer,\" came a faint voice from without, \"frozen and starved.\nIn the name of humanity I beg you to take me in, lest I faint and\nperish.\"\n\n\"Come in, come in!\" cried Wilbraham. \"Whoever you are, you are more than\nwelcome to that which is left us; little enough in all conscience.\"\n\nAn aged man, bent and weary, staggered in through the door. Wilbraham\nsprang toward him and caught his fainting form in his strong arms.\nTenderly he led him to his own abandoned chair by the fireside, where he\nand his faithful wife chafed the old fellow's hands until warmth had\nreturned to them.\n\n\"A cup of tea, my dear,\" said Wilbraham. \"It will set him up.\"\n\n\"And a morsel to eat, I implore you,\" pleaded the stranger, in a weak,\ntremulous voice. \"The merest trifle, good sir, even if it be only an\negg!\"\n\nThe woman grew rigid at the suggestion. \"An egg? At this time when eggs\nare--\" she began.\n\n\"There, there, Ethelinda,\" interrupted Wilbraham, gently. \"We have two\nleft in the ice-box--your breakfast and mine. Rather than see this good\nold man suffer longer I will gladly go without mine. The fact is, eggs\nhave sort of disagreed with me latterly anyhow, and--\"\n\n\"It is as you say, Richard,\" said the woman, meekly, as with a hopeless\nsigh she turned toward the kitchen, whence in a short time she returned,\nbearing a steaming creation of her own make--a lustrous, golden egg,\npoached, and lying invitingly upon the crisp bosom of a piece of toast.\nIt was a sight of beauty, and Wilbraham's mouth watered as he gazed\nhungrily upon it.\n\nAnd then the unexpected happened: The aged stranger, instead of\nvoraciously devouring the proffered meal, with a kindly glance upon his\nhost, raised his withered hands aloft as though to pronounce a\nbenediction upon him, and in a chanting tone droned forth the lines:\n\n  \"Who eats this egg and toast delicious\n  Receives the gift of three full wishes--\n  Thus do the fairy folk reward\n  The sacrifices of this board.\"\n\nA low, rumbling peal of thunder and a blinding flash as of the lightning\nfollowed, and when the brilliant illumination of the latter had died\naway the stranger had vanished.\n\nWilbraham looked at his wife, dumb with amazement, and she, tottering\nbackward into her chair, gazed back, her eyes distended with fear.\n\n\"Have I--have I been dreaming?\" he gasped, recovering his speech in a\nmoment. \"Or have we really had a visitor?\"\n\n\"I was going to ask you the same question, Richard,\" she replied. \"It\nreally was so very extraordinary, I can hardly believe--\"\n\nAnd then their eyes fell upon the steaming egg, still lying like a\nbeautiful sunset on a background of toast upon the table.\n\n\"The egg!\" she cried, hoarsely. \"It must have been true.\"\n\n\"Will you eat it?\" asked Wilbraham, politely extending the platter in\nher direction.\n\n\"Never!\" she cried, shuddering. \"I should not dare. It is too uncanny.\"\n\n\"Then I will,\" said Wilbraham. \"If the old man spoke the truth--\"\n\nHe swallowed the egg at a single gulp.\n\n\"Fine!\" he murmured, in an ecstasy of gastronomic pleasure. \"I wish\nthere were two more just like it!\"\n\nNo sooner had he spoken these words than two more poached eggs, even as\nhe had wished, appeared upon the platter.\n\n\"Great heavens, Ethelinda!\" he cried. \"The wishes come true! I wish to\ngoodness I knew who that old duffer was.\"\n\nThe words had scarcely fallen from his lips when a card fluttered down\nfrom the ceiling. Wilbraham sprang forward excitedly and caught it as it\nfell. It read:\n\n  HENRY W. OBERON\n  Secretary, The United States Fairy Co.,\n  3007 Wall Street\n\n\"Henry W. Oberon, United States Fairy Company, Wall Street, eh?\" he\nmuttered. \"By Jove, I wish I knew--\"\n\n\"Stop!\" cried his wife, seizing him by the arm, imploringly. \"Do stop,\nRichard. You have used up two of your wishes already. Think what you\nneed most before you waste the third.\"\n\n\"Wise Ethelinda,\" he murmured, patting her gently on the hand. \"Very,\nvery wise, and I will be careful. Let me see now.... I wish I had ... I\nwish I had....\"\n\nHe paused for a long time, and then his face fairly beamed with a great\nlight of joy.\n\n\"I wish I had three more wishes!\" he cried.\n\nAnother crash of thunder shook the house to its very foundations, and a\nlightning flash turned the darkness of the interior of the dwelling into\na vivid golden yellow that dazzled them, and then all went dusk again.\n\n\"Mercy!\" shuddered the good wife. \"I hope that was an answer to your\nwish.\"\n\n\"It won't take long to find out,\" said Wilbraham. \"I'll tackle a few\nmore natural desires right here and now, and if they come true I'll\nknow that that thunderbolt was a rush message from the United States\nFairy Company telling me to draw on them at sight.\"\n\n\"Well, don't be extravagant,\" his wife cautioned him.\n\n\"I'll be as extravagant as I please,\" he retorted. \"If my fourth wish\nworks, Ethelinda, my address from this hour on will be Easy Street and\nTreasury Avenue. I wish first then that this old farm was in Ballyhack!\"\n\n[Illustration: \"BALLYHACK! LAST STATION--ALL OUT!\"]\n\n\"Ballyhack! Last station--all out!\" cried a hoarse voice at the door.\n\nWilbraham rushed to the window and peered out into what had been the\nnight, but had now become a picture of something worse. Great clouds of\nimpenetrable smoke hung over the grim stretches of a dismal-looking\ncountry in which there seemed to be nothing but charred remnants of\nruined trees and blackened rocks, over which, in an endless line, a\nweary mass of struggling plodders, men and women, toiled onward\nthrough the grime of a hopeless environment.\n\n\"Great Scott!\" he cried, in dismay, as the squalid misery of the\nprospect smote upon his vision. \"This is worse than Diggville. I wish to\nheaven we were back again.\"\n\n\"Diggville! Change cars for Easy Street and Fortune Square!\" cried the\nhoarse voice at the door, and Wilbraham, looking out through the window\nagain, was rejoiced to find himself back amid familiar scenes.\n\n\"They're working all right,\" he said, gleefully.\n\n\"Yes,\" said his wife. \"They seem to be and you seem to be speculating as\nusual upon a narrow margin. Again you have only one wish left, having\nsquandered four out of the five already used.\"\n\n\"And why not, my dear,\" smiled Wilbraham, amiably, \"when my next wish is\nto be for six spandy new wishes straight from the factory?\"\n\nMrs. Wilbraham's face cleared.\n\n\"Oh, splendid!\" she cried, joyously. \"Wish it--wish it--do hurry before\nyou forget.\"\n\n\"I do wish it--six more wishes on the half-shell!\" roared Wilbraham.\n\nAs before, came the thunder and the lightning.\n\n\"Thank you!\" said Wilbraham. \"These fairies are mighty prompt\ncorrespondents. I am beginning to see my way out of our difficulties,\nEthelinda,\" he proceeded, rubbing his hands together unctuously.\n\"Instead of dreading to-morrow and the maturity of that beastly old\nmortgage, I wish to thunder it were here, and that the confounded thing\nwere paid off.\"\n\nThe wish, expressed impulsively, brought about the most astonishing\nresults. The hall clock began instantly to whirr and to wheeze, its\nhands whizzing about as though upon a well-oiled pivot. The sun shot up\nout of the eastern horizon as though fired from a cannon, and before the\namazed couple could realize what was going on, the village clock struck\nthe hour of noon, and they found themselves bowing old Colonel Digby,\nthe mortgage holder, out of the house, while Wilbraham himself held in\nhis right hand a complete satisfaction of that depressing document.\n\n\"Now,\" said Wilbraham, \"I feel like celebrating. What would you say to a\nnice little luncheon, my dear? Something simple, but good--say some\nRussian caviare, Lynnhaven Bay oysters, real turtle soup, terrapin,\ncanvas-back duck, alligator-pear salad, and an orange brulot for two,\neh?\"\n\n\"It would be fine, Richard,\" replied the lady, her eyes flashing with\njoy, \"but I don't know where we could get such a feast here. The\nDiggville markets are--\"\n\n\"Markets?\" cried Wilbraham, contemptuously. \"What have we to do with\nmarkets from this time on? Markets are nothing to me. I merely wish that\nwe had that repast right here and now, ready to--\"\n\n\"Luncheon is served, sir,\" said a tall, majestic-looking stranger,\nentering from the dining-room.\n\n\"Ah! Really?\" said Wilbraham. \"And who the dickens are you?\"\n\n\"I am the head butler of the Fairies' Union assigned to your service,\nsir,\" replied the stranger, civilly, making a low bow to Mrs. Wilbraham.\n\nThere is no use of describing the meal. It was all there as foreshadowed\nin Wilbraham's gastronomically inspired menu, and having had nothing to\neat since the night before, the fortunate couple did full justice to it.\n\n\"Before we go any further, Richard,\" said Mrs. Wilbraham, after the duck\nhad been served, \"do you happen to remember how many of your last six\nwishes are left?\"\n\n\"No, I don't,\" said Wilbraham.\n\n\"Then you had better order a few more lest by the end of this charming\nrepast you forget,\" said the thoughtful woman.\n\n\"Good scheme, Ethelinda,\" said Wilbraham. \"I'll put in a bid for a gross\nright away. There is no use in piking along in small orders when you can\ndo a land-office business without lifting your little finger.\"\n\n\"And don't you think, too, dear,\" the woman continued, \"that it would be\nwell for us to open a set of books--a sort of General Wish Account--so\nthat we shall not at any time by some unfortunate mistake overdraw our\nbalance?\"\n\n\"Ethelinda,\" cried Wilbraham, his face glowing with enthusiastic\nadmiration, \"you have, without any exception, the best business head\nthat ever wore a pompadour!\"\n\nThus it began. A cash-book was purchased and in its columns, like so\nmany entries of mere dollars, Wilbraham entered his income in wishes,\nfaithfully recording on the opposite page his expenditures in the same.\nThe first entry of one gross was made that very night:\n\n  March 16, 19--, Sight Draft on U. S. Fairy Co., 144\n\nBefore long others followed and were used to such an effect that at the\nend of the year, by a careful manipulation of his resources, carefully\nhusbanding the possibilities of that original third wish, Wilbraham\nfound that he had expressed and had had gratified over ten thousand\nwishes, all of such a nature that the one-time decrepit farm had now\nbecome one of the handsomest estates in the country. A chateau stood on\nthe site of the old mansion. Where the barns had been in danger of\nfalling of their own weight were now to be found rows of well-stocked\ncattle-houses and dairies of splendor. The decaying stables had become\ngarages of unusual magnificence, wherein cars of all horsepowers and\nmodels panted, eager to be chugging over the roads of Diggville, which\nby a single wish expressed by Wilbraham had become wondrously paved\nboulevards. And in the chicken-yards that had taken the place of the\ndiscouraging coops of other days thousands of hens laid their daily\nquota of prosperity for their owner in the plush-upholstered nests\nprovided for their comfort by Wilbraham, the egg king, for that was what\nhe had now become. In all parts of the world his fame was heralded, and\nhosts of sight-seers came daily to see the wonderful acres of this\nlordly master of the world's egg supply. And, best of all, there was\nstill a balance of forty-three hundred and eighty-seven wishes to his\ncredit!\n\nThe leading financiers of the world now began to take notice of this new\nfigure in the realm of effort, for they soon found their most treasured\nand surest schemes going awry in a most unaccountable manner. No matter\nhow much they tried to depress or to stimulate the market, some new and\nstrange factor seemed to be at work bringing their calculations to\nnaught, and when it became known to them that the mere expression of a\nwish on the part of Wilbraham would send stocks kiting into the air or\ncrashing into the depths, no matter what they might do, they began to\nworry.\n\n\"To-morrow,\" said John W. Midas, as he talked to Wilbraham and his\nfriends one evening at the club, \"International Gold Brick Common will\nfall off thirty-seven points.\"\n\n\"Not so, Colonel,\" Wilbraham had retorted. \"It will rise seventy\npoints.\"\n\n\"Oh, it will, will it? How do you know that?\" demanded Midas.\n\n\"Because I wish it,\" said Wilbraham.\n\nAnd on the morrow International Gold Brick, opening at 96-5/8, lo and\nbehold! closed at 166-5/8, and the friends of Midas who had laughed at\nWilbraham and sold short went to the wall. A half-dozen experiences of a\nsimilar nature showed the former rulers of the financial world that\nWilbraham had now become a force to be reckoned with, and for their own\nprotection the more eminent among them called a meeting at the home of\nMr. Andrew Rockernegie to consider the situation. There was too much\npower in the hands of one man, they thought, although that idea had\nnever occurred to any of them before. The result of the meeting was that\nColonel Midas was appointed a committee of one to call upon Wilbraham\nand see what could be done.\n\n\"You may not be aware of it, Mr. Wilbraham,\" said the Colonel, \"but by\nyour occasional intrusions into our lines of work you are making finance\nan inexact science. Now, what will you take to keep your hands off the\nmarket altogether? Twenty millions?\"\n\nWilbraham laughed.\n\n\"Really, Colonel Midas,\" he replied, \"I had no idea that you ever did\nbusiness on a corner-grocery basis like that. You ought to run a vacuum\ncleaner over your brow. I think there are cobwebs in your gray matter.\nWhy, my dear sir, I can capitalize this gift of mine at a billion, and\npay ten per cent. on every dollar of it every year, with a little melon\nto be cut up annually by the stock-holders of one hundred and fifty per\ncent. per annum. Why, then, should I sell out at twenty millions?\"\n\n\"Oh, I suppose you can have the earth if you want it,\" retorted Midas,\nruefully. \"But all the same--\"\n\n\"No, I don't want the earth,\" said Wilbraham. \"If I had wanted it I\nshould have had it long ago. I'd only have to pay taxes on it, and it\nwould be a nuisance looking after the property.\"\n\n\"On what basis will you sell out?\" demanded Midas.\n\n\"Well, we might incorporate my gift,\" said Wilbraham. \"What would you\nsay to a United States Wish Syndicate, formed to produce and sell wishes\nto the public by the can--POTTED WISHES: ONE HUNDRED NON-CUMULATIVE\nWISHES FOR A DOLLAR. Eh?\"\n\nMidas paced the floor in his enthusiasm.\n\n\"Magnificent!\" he cried. \"We'll underwrite the whole thing in my\noffice--bonds, stock, both common and preferred--for say--ahem!--how\nmuch did you say?\"\n\n\"Oh, I guess I can pull along on a billion,\" said Wilbraham. \"Cash.\"\n\nMidas scratched his head. A glitter came into his eye.\n\n\"You wish to give up control of your gift?\" he asked.\n\n\"You are a clever man, Colonel Midas,\" grinned Wilbraham. \"If I had said\n'yes' to that question I'd have lost my power. But I'm too old a bird to\nbe caught that way. You go ahead and form your company, and sell your\nsecurities to the public at par, pay me my billion, and I'll transfer\nthe business to you, C. O. D.\"\n\n\"Done!\" said Midas, and he returned to his fellow-captains on the\nStreet.\n\nWilbraham was felicitating himself upon a wondrously good stroke of\nbusiness, when another caller entered his room, this time unannounced.\n\n\"How do you do, Mr. Wilbraham?\" said the stranger, as he mysteriously\nmaterialized before Wilbraham's desk.\n\n\"How are you?\" said Wilbraham. \"Your face is familiar to me, but I can't\njust recall where I have met you.\"\n\n\"My name is Oberon, sir,\" said the stranger, \"I am the secretary of the\nUnited States Fairy Company. There is a little trouble over your\naccount, and I have called to see if we can't--\"\n\nWilbraham's heart sank within him.\n\n\"It--it isn't overdrawn, is it?\" he whispered, hoarsely.\n\n\"No, it isn't,\" said the secretary.\n\n\"By Jove!\" cried Wilbraham, drawing a deep sigh of relief, and springing\nto his feet, grasping Oberon by both hands. \"Sit down, sit down! You\nhave been a benefactor to me, sir.\"\n\n\"I am glad you realize that fact, Mr. Wilbraham,\" said the fairy,\nsomewhat coldly. \"It makes it easier for me to say what I have come\nhere to say. We did not realize, Mr. Wilbraham,\" he went on, \"when we\nawarded you the three original wishes that you would be clever enough to\nwork the wish business up into an industry. If we had we should have\nmade the wishes non-cumulative. We were perfectly willing to permit a\nreasonable overdraft also, but we didn't expect you to pyramid your\nholdings the way you have done until you have practically secured a\ncorner in the market.\"\n\nWilbraham grinned broadly.\n\n\"I have been going some,\" he said.\n\n\"Rather,\" said Oberon. \"Your original three wishes have been watered\nuntil we find in going over our books for the second year that they\nreach the sum total of three million five hundred and sixty-nine\nthousand four hundred and thirty-seven, and that you still have an\nunexpended balance on hand of four hundred and ninety-seven thousand\nthree hundred and seventy-four wishes. The situation is just this,\" he\ncontinued. \"Our company has been kept so busy honoring your drafts that\nwe are threatened with a general strike. We didn't mind building you a\nchateau and furbishing up your old chicken-farm, and setting you up for\nlife, but when you enter into negotiations with old John W. Midas to\nincorporate yourself into a wish trust we feel that the time has come to\ncall a halt. The fairies are honest, and no obligation of theirs will\never be repudiated, but we think that a man who tries to build up a\nbillion-dollar corporation to deal in wishes on an investment of one\npoached egg is just a leetle unreasonable. Even Rockernegie had a trifle\nmore than a paper of tacks when he founded the iron trust.\"\n\n\"By ginger, Oberon,\" said Wilbraham, \"you are right! I _have_ rather put\nit on to you people and I'm sorry. I wouldn't embarrass you good fairies\nfor anything in the world.\"\n\n\"Good!\" cried Oberon, overjoyed. \"I thought you would feel that way.\nJust think for one moment what it would mean for us if the Great Wish\nSyndicate were started as a going concern, with a board of directors\nmade up of men like John W. Midas, Rockernegie, and old Bondifeller\nrunning things. Why, there aren't fairies enough in the world to keep up\nwith those men, and the whole business world would come down with a\ncrash. Their wish would elect a whole Congress. If they wished the\nSenate out of Washington and located on Wall Street, you'd soon find it\nso, and, by thunder, Wilbraham, every four years they'd wish somebody in\nthe White House with a great capacity for taking orders and not enough\nspine to fill an umbrella cover, and the public would be powerless.\"\n\nWilbraham gazed thoughtfully out of the window. A dazzling prospect of\nimperial proportions loomed up before his vision, and the temptation was\nterrible, but in the end common sense came to the rescue.\n\n\"It would be a terrible nuisance,\" he muttered to himself, and then\nturning to Oberon he asked: \"What is your proposition?\"\n\n\"A compromise,\" said the fairy. \"If you'll give up your right to further\nwishes on our account we will place you in a position where, for the\nrest of your natural life, you will always have four dollars more than\nyou need, and in addition to that, as a compliment to Mrs. Wilbraham,\nshe can have everything she wants.\"\n\n\"Ha!\" said Wilbraham, dubiously. \"I--I don't think I'd like that\nexactly. She might want something I didn't want her to have.\"\n\n\"Very well, then,\" said the fairy, with a broad smile. \"We'll make you\nthe flat proposition--you give us a quit-claim deed to all your future\nright, title, and interest in our wishes, and we will guarantee that as\nlong as you live you will, upon every occasion, find in your pocket five\ndollars more than you need.\"\n\n\"Make it seven and I'll go you!\" cried Wilbraham, really enthusiastic\nover the suggestion.\n\n\"Sure!\" returned Oberon with a deep sigh of relief.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\n\"Well, dearest,\" said Wilbraham that night as he sat down at his onyx\ndinner-table, \"I've gone out of the wish business.\"\n\nHis wife's eyes lit up with a glow of happiness.\n\n\"You have?\" she cried, delightedly.\n\n\"Yes,\" said Wilbraham; and then he told her of Oberon's call, and the\nnew arrangement, and was rejoiced beyond measure to receive her approval\nof it.\n\n\"I am so glad, Richard,\" she murmured, with a sigh of content. \"I have\nbeen kept so busy for two years trying to think of new things to wish\nfor that I have had no time to enjoy all the beautiful things we have.\"\n\n\"And it isn't bad to have seven dollars more than you need whenever you\nneed it, is it, dearest?\"\n\n\"Bad, Richard?\" she returned. \"Bad? I should say not, my beloved. To\nhave seven dollars more than you need at all times is, to my mind, the\nheight of an ideal prosperity. I need five thousand dollars at this very\nminute to pay my milliner's bill.\"\n\n\"And here it is,\" said her husband, taking five crisp\none-thousand-dollar bills from his vest pocket and handing them to her.\n\"And here are seven brand-new ones besides. The fairies are true to\ntheir bargain.\"\n\n[Illustration: WILBRAHAM PAID BEFORE LEAVING THE COURT-ROOM]\n\nAnd they lived affluently forever afterward, although Midas and his\nconfreres did sue Wilbraham for a hundred million dollars for breach of\ncontract, securing judgment for twenty-nine million dollars, the which\nWilbraham paid before leaving the court-room, departing therefrom with\na balance of one five and two one dollar bills to the good.\n\nAnd that is why, my dear children, when you see the Wilbraham motor\nchugging along the highway, if you look closely you will see painted on\nthe door of the car a simple crest, a poached egg _dormant_ upon a piece\nof toast _couchant_, and underneath it, in golden letters on a scroll,\nthe family motto, _Hic semper septimus_.\n\n\n\n\nIII\n\nPUSS, THE PROMOTER\n\n\nOnce upon a time, not many years ago, my children, there was a well-known\ncaptain of industry who at his death had no other legacy to leave to his\nthree sons than fourteen bank accounts, all of them overdrawn, a couple\nof automobiles without any tires on their wheels, and an Angora cat\nwhich had taken several prizes at the annual cat show in New York, and\nupon more than one occasion had had its picture printed in the society\ncolumns of the Sunday newspapers.\n\nThe eldest son took over the bank accounts, and by the negotiation of\nseveral large checks among his friends, each one dated several months\nahead, had managed to escape to Venezuela with a comfortable fortune,\nwhere, after several revolutions, he found himself in the President's\ncabinet as Secretary of the Treasury. He further enriched himself in\nthis office by the private sale of national bonds to innocent investors,\nprior to his departure for Algiers, and became, before his death, a\nleading spirit in that interesting colony, and an influential member of\nthe Missionary Society of East Africa.\n\nThe second son took the automobiles, and with a pot of paint and eight\nold life-preservers, relics of the palmy days when his father was a\nfamous yachtsman, so furbished them up that he was able to sell them f.\no. b. to a couple of farmers in central Connecticut for five thousand\ndollars, which he invested in Steel Common when it was sulking along\nbetween 10 and 12 on a margin of five per cent., and, selling out at\n84-7/8, he was soon able to retire to the serene joys and quiet\npleasures of the Great White Way, along whose verdured slopes he pranked\nand played until paresis called him at the ripe age of twenty-seven\nyears. But to the youngest son, poor Jack Dinwiddie, by the terms of his\nfather's will, fell only the residue of the estate after the two\nbrothers had had their shares; in other words, the Angora cat!\n\nIt was, indeed, a melancholy situation, for poor Jack, like a great many\nother sons of men of presumably large wealth, had studied only political\neconomy at college, and of the domestic variety knew nothing. He was an\nhonorary member of the Consumers' League, but of the methods of the\nProducers' Union he knew little, and here at the age of twenty-two he\nfound himself fatherless, penniless, and without any visible means of\nsupport in the line of earning capacity.\n\n\"Well, Puss,\" he said, gloomily, as he gazed at his Angora cat, who was\nsitting on top of a pile of unpaid bills in Jack's bachelor apartment,\nwashing his face with his right paw, \"it looks to me as if we were up\nagainst it. The governor has gone to his last account, my allowance has\nceased, and you are the only clear and unencumbered asset in my\npossession, barring this last cigarette and two matches loaned to me by\na kind gentleman upon the street to whom I applied recently for a\nlight.\"\n\nHe paused and lit the cigarette, while Puss, unmindful of the pathos of\nthe situation, continued his prinking, giving especial attention to his\nwhiskers, brushing them upward from his lips until he bore a not very\nremote resemblance to the Kaiser himself.\n\n[Illustration: \"I SUPPOSE I COULD SELL YOU, BILL\"]\n\n\"I suppose I could sell you, Bill,\" the young man went on. \"Angora cats,\nwith a pedigree dating back to Dick Whittington's time and a bunch of\nblue ribbons big enough to supply every prohibitionist in the Union\nwith a bowknot for the lapel of his coat, must have some market value,\nespecially in a time like this, when anything resembling beef is worth\nits weight in radium; but I won't do it, old man. You've been a mighty\ngood cat to me, and as long as there is a drop of chalk and water left\nin this world you shall have your morning dish of milk.\"\n\nIt was then that a very singular thing happened.\n\n\"That's all I wanted to know, Jack,\" purred the cat, jumping to the\nfloor and rubbing his sleek sides up against his master's leg\naffectionately. \"If we are not to be separated, it is up to me to show\nmyself the worthy descendant of a noble and resourceful ancestry. There\nis a tradition in our family that no backyard fence has ever been so\nhard to climb that we couldn't get over it. Do you know who I am?\"\n\n\"Why, yes,\" said Jack, rubbing his eyes in astonishment, for he had\nnever heard the cat speak before. \"You are Angora Bill, the Champion\nChinchilla of fourteen consecutive annual shows, and the neatest little\nratter that ever lived.\"\n\n\"I am more than that,\" replied the cat, proudly. \"I am the direct lineal\ndescendant of the original Puss in Boots, and one of the advance agents\nof prosperity.\"\n\nJacked laughed even in his misery.\n\n\"Those days have gone, Puss,\" he said, wearily. \"There are no longer any\nfairies to help poor beggars like me out of a hole, Bill--\"\n\n\"That's what you think,\" smiled puss, scratching his left ear with his\nright hind-paw; \"but, my dear boy, my great-great-great-great-grandfather\nwas a back-fence piker alongside of myself, who, all unknown to you, am\none of the board of directors of the United States Fairy Company, of\n3007 Wall Street, New York. If you will do just what I tell you, my boy,\nwe shall emerge from this little embarrassment of ours with flying\ncolors, and spend our declining years in a little onyx bungalow on the\ncorner of Bond Avenue and Easy Street that will make the Vandergilt\npalace up on the Plaza look like a particularly cheap and self-effacing\nowl-wagon.\"\n\nJack gazed mournfully at his companion. Surely, he thought, our\nmisfortunes have driven him crazy. Nevertheless he decided to humor the\ncreature.\n\n\"What would you have me do, Puss?\" he asked.\n\n\"Nothing much,\" replied the cat. \"Just pack your suit-case with your few\nremaining collars and other garments, fill your five trunks with Sunday\nnewspapers and unpaid bills, and move at once into the Waldorf-Astoria,\ntaking a suite of five rooms and a bath.\"\n\n\"On nothing?\" demanded the astonished youth.\n\n\"You lose less on nothing than you would if you had something to lose,\"\nretorted puss, with a wise air. \"Do as I say. Lend me a pair of your\nboots, a derby hat, and your fur-lined ulster, and wait for me in your\napartment. Go at once to the hotel, register, and ask if there are any\nletters or messages for you, and all will be well. You might register as\nHorace Vanderpoel, of Cincinnati, or St. Louis, or any other old place\nat a comfortable distance from New York. Let your luggage precede you.\"\n\nThe cat spoke in a masterful tone that inspired confidence. As he\ndelivered his instructions he donned his master's boots and fur-lined\novercoat, and then putting the derby hat jauntily upon his head he\nsauntered forth.\n\n\"Good-bye, Jack,\" he said, as he reached the door. \"Follow my\ninstructions to the very last detail, and before long you'll be wearing\ndiamonds that will make the average incandescent electric light look\nlike an eclipse.\"\n\nNow Jack was a venturesome youth and ready at all times for any kind of\nan unusual experience; so, deeply impressed by the mere fact of the\ncat's having spoken at all, he decided to follow out his instructions to\nthe letter. His five trunks, filled to the brim with papers and bills\nand any other objects of _virtu_ that came handy, were dispatched at\nonce to the Waldorf, and in about three hours he himself followed them,\nregistering in a large, bold hand as Horace Vanderpoel, of Kansas City,\nin the hotel book.\n\n\"I want a suite of five rooms and a bath,\" said Jack.\n\n\"Certainly, Mr. Vanderpoel,\" said the room-clerk, courteously. \"We had\nalready made a reservation for you, sir. We will give you suite number\nforty-two on the first floor.\"\n\n\"Good!\" said Jack. \"I wasn't aware that my coming had been heralded--in\nfact, I have been wanting to have it kept as quiet as possible.\nImportant negotiations, you know.\"\n\n\"We quite understand, Mr. Vanderpoel,\" said the clerk.\n\n\"Have any letters or telephone messages been received for me?\" Jack\ndemanded.\n\n\"No letters, sir,\" replied the clerk, \"but--Rockernegie's secretary\n'phoned us about an hour ago requesting us to ask you to let him know\nthe minute you arrived--fact is, sir, that is how we came to be on the\nlookout for you.\"\n\n\"Rockernegie, eh?\" said Jack, scratching his head with a puzzled air.\n\"Well,\" he added with a laugh, \"I guess he can wait a bit. Have J. W.\nMidas & Co. rung me up yet?\"\n\n\"Not yet, sir,\" said the clerk.\n\n\"Well, I'm going down-stairs to be shaved,\" said Jack. \"If Midas does\nring me up let me know.\"\n\nHe chuckled as he went down to the barber-shop.\n\n\"Bill is a great cat,\" he muttered to himself. \"Rockernegie! Gee!\nHere's hoping he won't forget Midas and Bondifeller.\"\n\nHe sat down in the barber's chair and was soon richly lathered. The\nbarber was about to apply the razor, when a small boy clad in a perfect\nrash of buttons entered the shop.\n\n\"NUMBER FORTY-TWO, please!\" he cried. \"Gentleman number FORTY-TWO!\"\n\n\"Wait a minute, Barber,\" said Jack. \"That's my number. Here, boy, what\nis it?\"\n\n\"Wanted on the telephone, sir,\" said the boy.\n\n\"Find out who it is,\" said Jack, impatiently.\n\n\"Yes, sir,\" said the boy. \"I have, sir. They told me to tell you, sir,\nthat Mr. Bondifeller was on the 'phone, sir.\"\n\n[Illustration: \"TELL 'EM TO TELL MR. BONDIFELLER THAT I AM TOO BUSY TO\nSEE HIM\"]\n\n\"Oh, is that all?\" grinned Jack. \"Well, you tell 'em to tell Mr.\nBondifeller that I am too busy just at present to see him. You might\ntell him, too, that I haven't anything to add to what I said in my\nlast letter. If he doesn't like that, the deal is off.\"\n\nThere was a considerable craning of necks in the neighboring chairs, for\nJack had not thought to address his remarks to the lad in tones\nsuggestive of a confidential communication. The boy staggered slightly\non his feet, but managed to get away without dropping under the weight\nof such a message, and Jack, lying back in his chair, requested the\nbarber to proceed.\n\n\"Bill is a great cat!\" he chuckled.\n\n\"Beg pardon?\" queried the barber.\n\n\"I say don't shave me too close,\" said Jack.\n\nThe shave over, Jack retired to his apartment and found in suite number\nforty-two everything that the heart of man could desire, and throughout\nthe great caravansary the name of Horace Vanderpoel was held in high\nhonor. To be sure they had never heard of him before, but the associate\nof these brilliant dignitaries of the financial world must indeed be\nsomebody, even in New York! Here he sat, awaiting developments, his\namusement as well as his interest in the adventure increasing\nmomentarily. An hour passed and then a card was brought to his door\nbearing the mystic words:\n\n  COLONEL A. N. GORA\n  THE CATSKILL CLUB\n\n\"Ask Colonel Gora to come right up,\" said Jack, with difficulty\nrepressing the guffaw that struggled within him for expression,\nrecognizing the name at once. Five minutes later puss walked in, the\nperfect picture of a military dandy, largely due no doubt to the cut of\nhis whiskers.\n\n\"Well,\" he said, removing his gloves, and out of sheer force of habit\nproceeding to wash his face with his right paw, \"you seem to be pretty\ncomfortably located.\"\n\n\"In the lap of luxury,\" grinned Jack.\n\nPuss's face grew solemn.\n\n\"For a cat, my dear Jack, or, rather, Horace,\" he said, \"the lap of\nluxury would be a saucer of milk.\"\n\n\"You shall have a pitcherful, Bill,\" cried Jack, rushing to the 'phone.\n\n\"Not on your life, my dear boy!\" meowed puss, excitedly stopping him.\n\"Never! The occupant of an apartment like this ordering a pitcher of\nmilk! Why, my dear fellow, that would queer our game at the very start.\nOrder some tea and I'll drink the cream.\"\n\nAfter regaling himself on the refreshment provided by the confiding\nmanagement, puss, with a graceful readjustment of his whiskers, turned\nwith a smile to the wondering and admiring beneficiary of his\nresourceful mind.\n\n\"Well, what do you think of it, Jack?\" he asked.\n\n\"It is very nice indeed, Puss,\" Jack answered, \"but--er--I can't help\nthinking of the possibilities of the day of reckoning. Who's going to\npay for all this when the bill comes in?\"\n\n\"Don' t worry,\" said puss; \"I'll attend to all that. This afternoon I\nwant you to climb aboard the sight-seeing coach that leaves Madison\nSquare at three o'clock. Sit next to the young lady with blue eyes and a\nPersian lamb ulster, whom you will find occupying the front seat with\nher father, a large, stout gentleman with a kohinoor sparkling like an\nelectric light in his shirt-front and three more on his little finger.\nIf you happen to see me on the same coach, don't let on that you know\nme, and, above all, don't deny anything you may hear anybody saying\nabout you. Where did you register from?\"\n\n\"Kansas City,\" replied Jack.\n\n[Illustration: \"GOOD-BYE, JACK\"]\n\n\"All right,\" said puss. \"Keep a stiff upper lip, my boy, and all will be\nwell. Good-bye. Like most cats, I have a few fences to take care of\nthis afternoon and I must be off. I've found a nice little kitten up the\nstreet who is going to manicure my nails.\"\n\nWith these words the amazing creature donned his hat and coat and,\nresuming his boots, strode out with a magnificent swagger.\n\nAt three o'clock in the afternoon Jack, in accordance with his\ninstructions, boarded the sight-seeing coach at Madison Square, and,\nrecognizing the young woman referred to by puss sitting on the front\nseat of the car, seated himself beside her.\n\n\"When do we start, Popper?\" asked the girl, with a demure glance at\nJack.\n\n\"Putty soon, I guess,\" said the old gentleman, who sat on her other\nside. \"But there ain't never any tellin'. These New York guys does\nthings putty much as they please.\"\n\n\"Humph!\" muttered Jack under his breath. \"He sounds like real money from\nGoldfields.\"\n\nIn a few moments the car started, and as they passed around the\nFlatiron Building Jack was still further amazed to recognize in the\nvoice of the lecturer none other than that of the faithful puss.\n\n\"This building,\" Jack heard him saying boldly, \"is the famous Flatiron\nBuilding, erected at great expense by the Fuller Company and lately\npurchased for five million dollars by the famous Missouri financier and\ncapitalist, Mr. Horace Vanderpoel.\"\n\n\"_Gee-rusalem!_\" ejaculated Jack.\n\n[Illustration: \"THE HANDSOMEST TOWER IN THE WORLD\"]\n\n\"To the right is the wonderful tower of the Metropolitan Life Insurance\nBuilding--the handsomest tower in the world,\" continued puss, bellowing\nhis words into Jack's ears playfully through his megaphone; \"while off\nacross the square to the north the structure in yellow brick is the\nfamous Madison Square Garden, soon to be torn down to make room for the\nnew Vanderpoel office building, sixty-four stories high, containing\ntheatres, assembly halls, churches, convention halls, restaurants,\napartments, and so on, besides offices, costing between ten and twenty\nmillions of dollars.\"\n\n\"Vanderpoel Building, eh?\" said the old gentleman. \"Any relation to the\nfeller that's bought the Flatiron?\"\n\n\"Same man, sir. He's the only Vanderpoel,\" replied puss.\n\n\"Must have seven or eight dollars to spare,\" said the sight-seer.\n\n\"Ten or twelve, sir,\" laughed puss. \"It is said that he is trying to buy\na controlling interest in the whole city. Negotiating for the Astor\nestate, they say.\"\n\n\"Great Scott!\" gasped the sight-seer. \"What's he going to do with it\nwhen he gets it?\"\n\n\"Don't know, sir,\" replied puss, gayly. \"Kind of suspect he's thinking\nof annexing it to Kansas City, sir.\"\n\nThe car proceeded until the party reached the Plaza.\n\n\"On the left is the Plaza Hotel, another property of the Vanderpoel\nsyndicate,\" said puss; \"said to have cost the Kansas City millionaire\nten millions, and paid for in cash.\"\n\n\"_Gee!_\" gasped the young woman's father, and Jack indorsed the\nobservation unreservedly.\n\n\"That's a pretty house, Popper,\" said the young woman as the car reached\nthe Ninety-sixth Street entrance to the Park, pointing toward Mr.\nRockernegie's residence.\n\n\"Formerly the residence of Andrew Rockernegie,\" said puss, \"but recently\nsold to Mr. Vanderpoel for three million dollars.\"\n\n\"It's mighty funny I never heard of this Vanderpoel feller before,\" said\nthe old man.\n\n\"Just come into his fortune, sir,\" vouchsafed puss. \"Very young man just\ncome of age, sir.\"\n\nThe old man leaned forward and, addressing Jack, inquired:\n\n\"Did you ever hear of this man Vanderpoel, young man?\"\n\n\"Well, yes,\" said Jack, with a modest laugh. \"Fact is, _I myself am\nHorace Vanderpoel_.\"\n\nThe stranger gazed at him in amazement.\n\n\"Well, by ginger!\" he said. \"I--I--I'm dee-lighted to meet you, sir.\nThis is my daughter Amanda, sir. I--I--I'm proud to make your\nacquaintance.\"\n\n\"It is a pleasure to meet you, sir,\" said Jack, pleasantly, removing his\nhat and bowing to the young woman. \"You are Mr.--\"\n\n\"Dobbins, sir,\" returned the old man, effusively. \"Joshua Dobbins. I\nthought I was going some on the money question, with seven gold mines in\nNevada, but I must take off my hat to you, sir. Any man who has the\nnerve to buy New York--heavens!\"\n\nThe old fellow took off his hat and mopped his brow, which had begun to\nperspire freely.\n\n\"Oh, I don't take any credit to myself for that,\" said Jack, modestly.\n\"When a boy has a great-grandfather who dies and leaves forty million\ndollars to him in trust for fifty years before he was born, and that\nmoney accumulates until the unborn beneficiary is twenty-one years old,\nit means a rather tidy stockingful, I admit, but it isn't as if I'd made\nthe money myself.\"\n\n\"Fuf-forty million accumulating interest for seventy-one years!\" gasped\nDobbins.\n\n\"Compound,\" said Jack, smiling sweetly at the girl at his side. \"That's\nthe deuce of it. I--I've got to do something to keep the income\ninvested, and New York real estate, being the most expensive thing in\nsight, I've gone in for that as being the easiest way out.\"\n\n\"I--I suppose you are living here now?\" asked Mr. Dobbins.\n\n\"No,\" said Jack. \"Personally I don't care particularly for New York. I\nam just in town for a few days, stopping at the Waldorf.\"\n\n\"Why, so are we,\" interrupted the girl.\n\n\"Then,\" said Jack, gallantly, \"the Waldorf possesses even greater\nattractions than I had supposed.\"\n\nThe girl blushed a rosy red, and the old gentleman fairly beamed.\n\n\"Glad to have you take dinner with us, Mr. Vanderpoel,\" he said.\n\n\"Thank you,\" said Jack. \"I shall be charmed to do so if I can. I sort of\nhalf promised Mr. Bondifeller to take a snack with him this evening,\nbut\"--this with a killing glance at the blushing Miss Dobbins \"but I\nguess he can wait. To tell you the truth, Mr. Dobbins, these New York\nmillionaires bore me to death. At what time shall we foregather?\"\n\n\"Suppose we say seven?\" said the old gentleman.\n\n\"My lucky number,\" said Jack, with a gracious smile, which set the heart\nof Miss Dobbins all of a-flutter.\n\nSo passed the hours away. Jack found himself growing momentarily more\ndeeply impressed with the beauty of the maiden at his side, and by the\ntime the young people had reached the hotel it had become a pronounced\ncase of pure and ardent love. As they entered the Waldorf one of the\nemployees of the hotel rushed excitedly up to the young billionaire,\nbreathless with the importance of a communication intrusted to him.\n\n\"Mr. Rockernegie is on the wire--wants to speak to you immediately,\nsir,\" he panted.\n\n\"Tell him I'm busy,\" said Jack, entering the tea-room and ordering a\nslight repast for Miss Dobbins and her father. A moment later the\nmessenger returned, more breathless than before.\n\n\"Sorry, sir,\" said the boy, \"but Mr. Rockernegie says he must see you\nright away, sir.\"\n\nJack frowned as though deeply annoyed, and his answer came with an\nincisive coldness that froze Mr. Dobbins almost to the marrow.\n\n\"Go back to that 'phone and tell the gentleman that it will take the\nbiggest search-light in the amalgamated navies of the world to enable\nhim to get even a bird's-eye view of me until I get good and ready,\" he\nsaid. \"Er--tell him he can come to my office at ten-thirty to-morrow\nmorning if he wants to, only he mustn't be late. Just impress that on\nhis mind.\"\n\nMr. Dobbins choked and coughed apoplectically.\n\n\"Don't let us interfere with any of your engagements, Mr. Vanderpoel,\"\nhe sputtered.\n\n\"That's all right, Mr. Dobbins,\" said Jack.\n\n\"I wish you'd invest seven or eight million for me,\" said Dobbins, with\na sheepish glance at Jack. \"I know it isn't much, but--\"\n\n\"Risky business, speculating, Mr. Dobbins,\" said Jack, bravely, although\nthe suggestion had nearly knocked him off his chair. \"Better hang on to\nyour pennies, now that you've got 'em.\"\n\n\"Oh, I've got eight or ten more where they came from,\" chuckled the old\nman.\n\n\"Then, sir,\" said Jack, as calmly as he knew how, \"the best investment\nfor you is in Miss Amanda Dobbins Preferred, a stock of priceless\nvalue.\"\n\n\"I don't think I quite understand,\" said the old man, scratching his\nhead in perplexity.\n\n\"Settle five million on your daughter,\" explained Jack. \"When you've got\nher fixed comfortably in life, go in and do as you please with the rest\nof your fortune. Play the game as hard as you like, and, win or lose, no\nharm can come to her--and _if_ you lose, why, she'll be able to take\ncare of you.\"\n\n\"I've already given her four million, haven't I, Amandy?\" said the old\ngentleman, proudly.\n\n\"Yes, Popper,\" said the girl, and Jack's heart began to play the\nanvil chorus on the xylophone of his ribs. What a chance!\n\n\"How about it, Mr. Vanderpoel,\" persisted the old man; \"can you put me\nwise?\"\n\n\"Oh, well,\" said Jack, \"if you really insist I'll let you into a little\nblind pool I'm in, but not for very much--say a couple of millions. Only\nI won't take a penny of your money if you are like all the rest of these\npeople here who want to be shown how things are every five minutes of\nthe day. I'll take your two million and you can call it a loan, if you\nwant to. Your receipt will be my demand note for the full amount. You\nsee I know what I'm about, and I'm careful.\"\n\n[Illustration: \"COULDN'T MAKE IT THREE MILLION, COULD YOU?\" SUGGESTED\nMR. DOBBINS]\n\n\"Couldn't make it three million, could you?\" suggested Mr. Dobbins, with\na pleading note in his voice which Jack found difficult to resist. \"I\nhappen to have that amount idle--\"\n\n\"Well, I'll tell you what I'll do,\" said Jack, patronizingly. \"I was\ngoing to pull this thing off myself because it is one of the few\ndead-sure things left in this world, but first the Midas people butted\nin, then Bondifeller wanted a slice, and Rockernegie wore out his\nlibrary carpet running to the 'phone to ring me up about it, until I\ntold Central I'd have the company indicted as a nuisance if they let the\nold man have my number again. None the less, for merely diplomatic\nreasons, I'm going to let 'em all in for a small share. Just enough to\nkeep them satisfied with themselves. Exactly what the basis will be I\nhaven't yet decided, but if you are willing to take your chances with\nthem--well, you may hand me six certified checks for five hundred\nthousand dollars apiece, so that I can spread the whole amount around in\nmy various bank and trust company accounts.\"\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\n\"Now what, Puss?\" asked Jack the next afternoon, as he and his feline\nfriend held a consultation in the apartment. \"I've got three million to\nmy credit in six banks. What's the next step--Algiers or Venezuela?\"\n\n\"Why,\" said puss, \"it seems to me that a man with three million in hand\ncan afford to stay in New York over Christmas, anyhow.\"\n\n\"Yes, I know,\" said Jack. \"But the old man--he's got to have some profit\nsome time or other, hasn't he?\"\n\nPuss sighed deeply. \"It is very evident, my dear Jack,\" said he, \"that\nyou are no financier. Settle a million on yourself and use the remainder\nto pay dividends to Mr. Dobbins. He'd probably think twenty-five per\ncent. on his investment was a pretty fair return, and if at the end of\nthe first year you give him back seven hundred and fifty thousand\ndollars he'll be satisfied. Then if you hand him over a full million the\nsecond year--well--\"\n\n\"Well what?\" gasped Jack.\n\n\"He'll put five million more into the pool on your mere intimation that\nyou are willing to help him out to that extent,\" said puss, \"which will\nkeep you going several years longer.\"\n\nJack breathed heavily at the prospect of such affluence, but he could\nnot escape the uncomfortable feeling that there would be an inevitable\nday of reckoning ahead of him.\n\n\"And when that is gone?\" he asked.\n\nPuss gazed at him scornfully this time.\n\n\"My, but you are stupid!\" he ejaculated. \"I really want to help you,\nJack, but I can't do everything, you know. You've got to handle some of\nthis business yourself. But let me ask you one question: Did you ever\nhear of a millionaire putting the father of his grandchildren in jail\nbecause he had lost money in a blind speculation?\"\n\n\"No, I never did,\" said Jack; \"but you see, Puss, I am not the father of\nDobbins' grandchildren.\"\n\n\"No,\" said puss, \"but why in thunder should you not be?\"\n\n\"By Jove!\" cried Jack, joyously. \"Do you think she'll have me?\"\n\n\"Will a duck quack?\" asked the cat.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\n(Extract from the last will and testament of Joshua Dobbins):\n\n     \"... and I do hereby appoint my said son-in-law, Horace\n     Vanderpoel, husband of my beloved daughter Amanda, sole\n     trustee of my estate, without bond, said estate to be\n     administered by him for the benefit of my said daughter\n     Amanda and her children, according to his own discretion;\n     for which service, in lieu of executor's or trust fees, I do\n     hereby give, bequeath, and devise to his use forever the sum\n     of five million dollars, together with such additional sums\n     as I have from time to time during the past four years\n     invested under his advice and direction in the several\n     properties in his control, both principal and interest\n     accrued up to the date of my decease.\"\n\n\"Dear old dad!\" said Jack, when the will had been read. \"Your father was\na fine man, Amanda dear, and a very successful man as well.\"\n\n\"Yes, Horace,\" said his weeping wife, \"but he always insisted that he\nowed much to your splendid business management; so, after all, you have\nonly come into your own, dear.\"\n\n\"Ah, well,\" said Jack, as he opened a fresh bottle of cream and placed\nit before his pet Angora, \"money isn't everything, sweetheart, and I\nshould have been satisfied if he had left me nothing but you.\"\n\nAnd the Angora cat wiped off the back of his ear with his left paw and\ntwirled his mustachios upward with a wave of his right, as he purred\namiably over the cream.\n\n\n\n\nIV\n\nTHE GOLDEN FLEECE\n\n\nThere was once a miller who was very poor, but he had a beautiful\ndaughter. There were a great many people who said that if he had not had\nso beautiful a daughter he would not have been so poor, and it may be\nthat these were right, for beautiful daughters are not infrequently a\nsource of considerable expense to their parents, and I fear me that\nGasmerilda was no exception to this rule.\n\nShe had a great passion for rare furs and for opera and lingerie cloaks,\nand the thousand and one other dainty things that appeal to the heart\nof beautiful young maidenhood, and it seemed to make no difference how\nmany millions of bushels of corn passed through her father's mill day\nafter day, the returns from the grinding wheels were always thirty or\nforty dollars a month lower than the total aggregate of Gasmerilda's\nbills from milliners, furriers, jewelers, and others too numerous to\nmention.\n\nOf course, this thing could not go on indefinitely. There comes a time\nwhen even the blindest of creditors will insist upon the liquidation of\na miller's account, and the poor man found himself getting deeper and\ndeeper into debt as the months passed along, and was now at last at his\nwits' ends to devise new excuses for the non-payment of Gasmerilda's\nindebtedness. Indeed, he had now come to a point where there was but one\nrefuge from the ultimate of financial disaster that should force him\ninto a public declaration of his bankruptcy, and that was to be seen\nassociating in public places with well-known malefactors of great\nwealth.\n\nWhat awful agony of mind this cost him--for he was an honest miller, as\nhad always been evidenced by his willingness to promise to pay his debts\neven when he knew he could not--the world will never know, but he\nswallowed his pride, and for a time gained immunity from the pressure of\nhis creditors with their threatened judgments by being seen walking down\nFifth Avenue in the morning alongside of Colonel John W. Midas, the\npresident of the Pactolean Trust Company, a savings institution formed\nprimarily for the purpose of lending its depositors' money to members of\nits own board of directors, taking their checks dated two months ahead\nand indorsed by their office-boys and stenographers for security.\n\nIt is true that anybody who was ever seen speaking to Colonel Midas in\npublic was, by orders of the district attorney, immediately snap-shotted\nby the Secret Service Camera Squad attached to that gentleman's office,\nand the resulting negatives filed away for future reference in case\nJustice should ever, by some odd chance, peep over the top of her\nbandage for a moment and fix her eagle eye upon the Colonel's doings;\nbut, on the other hand, there were countless thousands of worthy people,\nand among them were the miller's creditors, who believed that\nassociation with such a person as Colonel Midas was pretty good evidence\neither of a man's solvency or of his immunity to the lash of the law.\nConsequently, when for five successive mornings the furriers, the\njewelers, the milliners, and others, to whom the unfortunate miller owed\nvast unpayable sums of money for sundries purchased from time to time by\nthe beautiful Gasmerilda, saw their debtor walking down-town alongside\nof the great Pactolean magnate, they called off their collectors and\nattorneys, and sent the beautiful girl extra notifications through the\nmails of their new fall and winter importations; to which, in due course\nof time, the lovely maid responded, to the consequent swelling of the\nalready over-large accounts due. If these persons had only known that\nthese walks upon the avenue were silent walks, and that from the Plaza\ndown to Madison Square Colonel Midas, though accompanied by the miller,\nwas utterly unaware of the latter's presence, being too deeply absorbed\nin certain operations of great magnitude upon the Street to notice\nanything that was going on around him, they would doubtless have acted\ndifferently; but they did not know this, and it soon passed about among\nthe tradesmen that the miller was the friend of Midas, and thereby was\nhis credit greatly expanded.\n\nOn the morning of the sixth day's promenade, however, Colonel Midas,\nhaving solved the particular problem upon which his mind had been set\nfor the past week or ten days, became more observant, and, after the\nmiller had walked at his side for several blocks, he remarked the fact,\nand with emotions that were not altogether pleasant. Wherefore, he\nquickened his footsteps in order that he might leave the intruder\nbehind, but the miller quickened his also and remained alongside.\nColonel Midas stopped short in his walk before an art-shop window, and\ngazed in at the paintings therein displayed.\n\nThe miller likewise, his head cocked knowingly to one side like that of\na connoisseur, paused and gazed in at the marvels of the brush. The\nColonel, with a sudden jerky turn, leaped from the window to the\ngutter-curb and boarded a moving omnibus with surprising agility for a\nman of his years. But he was not too quick for his pursuer, for the\nmiller, though scarcely able to afford the expense, immediately sprang\naboard the same vehicle and took the seat beside him. Then for the first\ntime the Colonel addressed him, and, there being no ladies upon the\nomnibus at that early hour, in terms rather more forcible than polite.\n\n[Illustration: \"WHAT DO YOU THINK YOU ARE DOING?\"]\n\n\"What do you think you are doing?\" he demanded, frowning upon his\npursuer.\n\n\"Riding in a 'bus,\" replied the miller, with a pleasant smile.\n\n\"Are you trying to shadow me?\" roared the Colonel.\n\n\"I'd make a mighty poor eclipse for you, Colonel Midas,\" said the\nmiller, suavely, \"but to tell you the truth,\" he added, a sudden idea\nhaving flashed across his mind, which in the absence of anything else to\nsay in explanation of his conduct seemed as good as any other excuse he\ncould invent, \"there _is_ a little matter I'd like to bring to your\nattention.\"\n\n\"Bombs?\" asked the Colonel, moving away apprehensively, noticing that\nthe miller had put his hand into his pocket, and fearing that he had,\nperhaps, encountered a crank who designed to do him harm.\n\n\"No, indeed,\" laughed the miller. \"Not in such close quarters as this.\nWhen I throw a bomb at anybody I shall take care to provide a safety net\nfor myself.\"\n\n\"Ha!\" ejaculated the Colonel, with a deep sigh of relief. \"Book-agent?\"\n\n\"Nothing in it,\" said the miller. \"Work too heavy for the profits. No,\nsir, I am neither a book-agent nor an anarchist. I am nothing but a poor\nmiller with an ingrowing income, but I have a beautiful daughter who--\"\n\n\"Oh yes,\" interrupted Midas, with a nod. \"I remember now. I've heard of\nyou. You preferred to remain independent instead of selling out to the\nTrust. You tried to discount some of your notes at the Pactolean Trust\nCompany, of which I am president, the other day.\"\n\n\"Yes,\" said the miller, \"and you refused them.\"\n\n\"Naturally,\" laughed Midas. \"A beautiful daughter, Mr. Miller, is a\nlovely possession, but she's mighty poor security for a loan. About the\nworst in the market. Especially yours. I've seen Miss Miller at the\nopera several times and have wondered how you managed it. It would cost\nmore than the face value of your notes to support the security for one\nweek in the style to which she is accustomed.\"\n\n\"That's true enough,\" said the miller, \"and nobody knows it better than\nI do. Nevertheless, you made a mistake. You have possibly never heard of\nher wonderful gift.\"\n\n\"No,\" said the magnate. \"I was not aware that the young lady had any\nother gifts than beauty and a father with a little credit left.\"\n\n\"Well, be that as it may,\" retorted the miller, \"she has one great gift.\nShe can spin straw into gold.\"\n\n\"What?\" cried Midas, becoming interested at once.\n\n\"Yes, sir,\" the miller went on. \"She has marvellous powers in that\ndirection. If she hadn't I'd have been up a tree long ago.\"\n\n\"I had heard of her father's ability to turn hot air into Russian sables\nand diamond necklaces, but this straw business is something new,\" said\nMidas.\n\n\"I thought you would so regard it,\" said the miller, confidently, \"and\nthat is why I have been trying to get a word with you for the past week.\nYou are the only man I know in the financial world who is known to have\nthe enterprise and the courage to go into a little gamble that other\npeople would laugh at. You have that prime quality of success, Colonel\nMidas, that is known to mankind as nerve. You are always willing to sit\nin any kind of a game that shows a glimmer of profit in the perspective,\nand that is why I bring this matter to you instead of to my friend\nRockernegie, a man utterly without imagination and blind to many a sure\nthing because he can't understand it.\"\n\nThe Colonel, who was not unsusceptible to flattery, was visibly\nimpressed by this tribute. He scratched his head thoughtfully for a\nmoment.\n\n\"See here, Mr. Miller,\" he said, after a brief communion with himself,\n\"if this story is true, why are you trying to discount your notes at the\nPactolean Trust Company? Why don't you get a bale of straw and have your\ndaughter turn it over a few times?\"\n\n\"I will be perfectly frank with you, Colonel,\" said the miller. \"It is a\nhumiliating confession to make, sir, but I'm everlastingly busted. Just\nplain down and out and I couldn't buy a lemonade straw if they were\ngoing at a cent a ton, much less a bale.\"\n\nThe Colonel looked at him sympathetically, and then, giving his knee a\nresounding whack, he cried: \"By Jove, Miller, I'll back you! I rather\nlike your nerve, and, as you have so charmingly put it, I _am_ the sort\nof man to take a long shot. Yes, sir, and I wouldn't have had seven\ncents to my name to-day if I hadn't been. Come with me to the Pactolean\nTrust Company and we'll discount your demand note, suitably indorsed,\nright off, with the understanding, however, that your daughter gives us\nan immediate demonstration of her powers. We'll furnish the straw.\"\n\nThe miller's heart leaped with joy, but he deemed it well not to show\nhimself over-anxious lest he lose the whole advantage.\n\n\"It is very good of you, Colonel,\" he observed quietly, \"but I don't\nknow a soul in this bright, beautiful world who would indorse my note\nfor any sum, large or small.\"\n\n\"Oh, that will be all right,\" laughed the Colonel. \"We've got a rubber\nstamp in the office for just such emergencies.\"\n\nSo the miller and his new-found friend went to the offices of the\nPactolean Trust Company, where, in a short while, he found relief from\nhis pressing woes by the exchange of his demand note for five thousand\ndollars, indorsed most appropriately by a man of straw, for four crisp\none-thousand-dollar treasury notes and the balance, less six months'\ninterest, in yellow-backs of a denomination of fifty dollars each.\n\n\"Tell your daughter to come down here to-morrow morning,\" said the\nColonel, as the miller pocketed the money. \"I'll summon the board of\ndirectors and she can give us a demonstration of her gift in the private\noffice. We'll have a couple of bales of straw all ready for her.\"\n\n\"You will have to excuse me, Colonel,\" said the miller, with that\ncalmness which a man is likely to show when he has five thousand dollars\nin good money in his purse, \"but that will be impossible. Gasmerilda has\nalways refused to exercise her gift in the presence of anybody else, and\nI am quite sure she will make no exception in this case. Even as a child\nshe would not let either her mother or myself see how she did it.\"\n\n\"But she must,\" said the Colonel, firmly, \"or I shall be under the\npainful necessity of calling that note at once.\"\n\n[Illustration: \"THERE'S THE MONEY, SIR\"]\n\n\"But she can't,\" returned the miller. \"You see, sir, it is one of the\npeculiarities of the gift that she must be alone while at work. It\nrequires such intense concentration of effort. If you insist upon her\npresence here, why--well, as you intimate, the deal is off between us\nand I shall have to take it to Rockernegie. There's the money, sir.\"\n\nWith a supreme effort of will the miller tossed the roll of bills back\nupon the table. It was, of course, an act of sheer bravado, but he\ncarried it off so well that it worked.\n\n\"Oh, very well,\" said the Colonel, gruffly, a shade of disappointment\ncrossing his face. \"If she can't, she can't, I suppose. It's worth a\ntry, anyhow. We'll send a bale of straw up to your residence this\nafternoon, and if by to-morrow morning she has managed to turn it into\ngold, all well and good. If not--well, we call the note, that's all.\"\n\n\"Can't you make it a week?\" pleaded the miller. \"She may have some other\nengagement on for to-night, and--er--well, a week will give her time\nto turn around.\"\n\n\"Make it five days,\" said the Colonel. \"To-day is Wednesday. Let her\nmake the delivery on Monday morning.\"\n\n\"Done!\" said the miller, overjoyed, and he went out.\n\nHe had not the slightest notion in the world how his beautiful daughter\nwould be able to fulfil the agreement--indeed, he was fairly certain in\nhis mind that she would be able to do nothing of the sort, but he had\nthe use of five thousand dollars at a critical moment in his career and\nhe knew that if worst came to worst he could shave off his mustache,\nand, thus disguised, take passage for Europe in the steerage of some one\nof the many Saturday steamers.\n\nNow, on his return home that evening, the miller was very much\nembarrassed by a searching inquiry from his beautiful daughter. It seems\nthat when she had tried to telephone to one of her friends that\nafternoon she had been informed by Central that the service had been\ndiscontinued for non-payment of the bill for December, 1906.\n\n\"Have we come to such a pass as that, father?\" she demanded, her lovely\nvoice quivering with emotion.\n\n\"It looks like it,\" said the miller, with an uneasy laugh. \"I have been\nkept so busy paying for your daily supply of fresh sables that I haven't\nhad a moment for the gas bills or for your conversational accounts. With\nyou to look after, my dear, I find that even talk is not cheap.\"\n\nThe beautiful girl wiped the tears from her eyes with her point-lace\nhandkerchief.\n\n\"But,\" she cried, \"what are we going to do? I must have eleven hundred\nand seventy dollars and fifty-five cents to-morrow morning, father, or I\nshall be ruined.\"\n\nThe miller's heart sank within him and his face grew ashen.\n\n\"Eleven hundred and seventy dollars and fuf-fifty--fuf--five cents?\" he\nstammered. \"In Heaven's name what for, Gasmerilda--hairpins?\"\n\n\"No, father,\" she trembled. \"I have issued three or four pounds of\ndeferred bridge certificates, and they fall due to-morrow. You certainly\ndo not wish me to lose my social position--about the only thing I have\nleft?\"\n\nThe unhappy man gazed long and anxiously at the pale face before him,\nand then his heart softened, as it always had done.\n\n\"All right, my child,\" he sighed, as he tossed the exact amount to her\nacross the table. Then his face grew stern.\n\n\"Gasmerilda,\" he said, \"your extravagance having brought us to this, I\nmay as well inform you now as at any other time that it is up to you to\nget us out of trouble, and I have to-day been forced to enter into\nnegotiations with the Pactolean Trust Company by which you are to be\ncapitalized. Hereafter, my child, you are to become a dividend-paying\ninvestment instead of twin sister to a sinking fund.\"\n\n\"What can you mean, father?\" cried the girl, her face blanching with\nfear.\n\nThe miller thereupon recounted to her in full detail the incidents of\nthe morning, and revealed to her astounded mind the preposterous claims\nhe had made on her behalf.\n\n\"But father,\" she protested, \"I have no such gift.\"\n\n\"You will excuse me for refusing to discuss the matter further with you,\nGasmerilda,\" he replied, coldly. \"If it so happens that you have no such\ngift you must devise some method of getting it. I have given my word,\nand as a dutiful daughter you must make good.\"\n\nTurning to the butler, the miller asked:\n\n\"James, has a bale of straw arrived here to-day from Colonel Midas?\"\n\n\"Yes, sir,\" said the butler. \"It is down-stairs in the cellar, sir.\"\n\n\"Good!\" said the miller. \"You will have it carried up to Miss\nMiller's dressing-room at once.\"\n\nRising from the table he kissed his unhappy daughter affectionately,\nand, bidding her good-night, he went to the club, where he paid his\ndelinquent dues and house charges and set out once more upon a tolerably\ncare-free existence for five days at least.\n\n\"A short life and a merry one!\" he muttered to himself, as he paid in a\nhundred dollars for a supply of red and blue chips.\n\n[Illustration: POOR GASMERILDA SAT WHITE-FACED]\n\nMeanwhile, poor Gasmerilda sat white-faced, and eyes wide with fear and\nperplexity, staring at that horrible bale of straw that occupied the\nmiddle of the floor of her dainty boudoir. She had no more idea of how\nto spin it into gold than she had of making over her last year's gingham\nbath-robe into this year's panne-velvet opera gown. Hourly her distress\ngrew, until finally the floodgates of her tears broke, and she burst\ninto a passionate convulsion of weeping. But, even as the tears began\nto flow, there came a faint golden tinkle on the jeweled 'phone that\nstood on her escritoire. At first she paid no attention to the\nunexpected tintinnabulation, but the tinkling soon became more\npronounced and so persistent that she finally answered it.\n\n\"Is that you, Gasmerilda?\" came a quaint little voice over the wire.\n\n\"Yes,\" she sobbed. \"Who is this?\"\n\n\"There are tears in your voice, Gasmerilda,\" came the quaint little\nvoice.\n\n\"They are all over the place,\" wept the unhappy girl.\n\n[Illustration: \"I AM YOUR FAIRY GODMOTHER, GASMERILDA\"]\n\n\"And I know why,\" said the little voice, sympathetically. \"I am your\nfairy godmother, Gasmerilda, and I have not ceased to watch over you.\nYour father has negotiated a loan on your remarkable gift of spinning\nstraw into gold, has he not?\"\n\n\"Yes,\" sobbed Gasmerilda, \"and I have no such gift.\"\n\n\"Well, don't worry, my child,\" said the little voice. \"When you were\na baby you once offered a part of your school orange to a starving\nkitten, and she has not forgotten it. I was that kitten and I have kept\nmy eye on you ever since, and now I am going to help you out. If you\nwill do exactly what I tell you to do all will be well.\"\n\nGasmerilda, with a great sigh of relief, promised to be faithful to her\nfairy godmother's instructions.\n\n\"Oh, you dear!\" she cried, impulsively.\n\n\"Go to-morrow, the first thing in the morning,\" said the fairy\ngodmother, \"to the United States Assay Office on Wall Street, taking\nwith you the money your father gave you this evening at dinner, and buy\na one-thousand-dollar bar of gold.\"\n\n\"But, Fairy Godmother,\" Gasmerilda interrupted, \"I--I must use that\nmoney to pay off my bridge I. O. U.'s to-morrow.\"\n\n\"I have arranged for all that,\" laughed the fairy godmother. \"Those\nI. O. U.'s will never be presented. Transforming myself into a mouse, I\nhave entered the escritoires of the ladies holding your notes of hand,\nand have eaten every single one of them.\"\n\nGasmerilda's heart leaped with joy.\n\n\"Oh, Fairy Godmother!\" she cried. \"Can't you get rid of father's note in\nthe same way?\"\n\n\"No, my dear,\" sighed the little voice. \"That note, unfortunately, is\nstored away in a steel vault, and my teeth are not strong enough to\nnibble through that. I have a more business-like method to get you both\nout of your troubles. After you have purchased the bar of gold, take it\nhome with you and devise some convenient means of getting rid of the\nstraw without anybody seeing you do it. The best way to do this will be\nto carry an armful of it at a time up on to the roof of your house and\nlet it blow away; and then, when next Monday comes, and your father is\nrequired to deliver the first consignment of the precious metal to\nColonel Midas, go with him to the Colonel's office, yourself, taking\nthe gold bar with you, and see that it is really delivered. Wear your\nmost bewitching hat, and don't fail to remember what a woman's eyes were\ngiven her for.\"\n\n\"Oh, thank you, thank you, thank you!\" cried Gasmerilda, a great wave of\nhappiness sweeping over her. \"If I could get at you, dear Fairy\nGodmother, over the 'phone, I should hug you to death.\"\n\n\"That is all right, child. My reward will come later,\" replied the fairy\ngodmother. \"When your profits begin to come in you may pay me a\ncommission of ten per cent. on all you get.\"\n\n\"Gladly. I'll make it fifteen per cent.,\" cried the grateful girl. \"But\nhow shall you be paid?\"\n\n\"By check, dear, drawn to the order of The Fairy's Aid Society of\nAmerica, of which I am the president,\" was the answer. \"The address is\njust Wall Street, New York. And now, sweet dreams, my beloved ward. The\nsun of your troubles has set, and the dawn of prosperity is here.\"\n\nWith a happy smile Gasmerilda wished her kindly friend good-night, and\nretired to her couch and slept the sleep of a weary child. Bright and\nearly the next morning, with her little gold-chain purse containing the\nnecessary funds dangling from her chatelaine, she appeared at the assay\noffice, and purchased there a shining bar of the lustrous metal,\nreturning to her home in time for luncheon.\n\n\"Well, daughter,\" said the miller, as he met her in the hallway, \"how\ndoes the good work proceed?\"\n\n\"Very well, indeed, father,\" she said, with a cheery smile. \"I'm a\nlittle out of practise, but I managed to spin about ninety-eight\ndollars' worth last night before going to bed.\"\n\nThe miller blinked amazedly at his daughter. This answer was indeed the\nmost extraordinary substitute for the floods of tears he had expected to\ngreet his question.\n\n\"You--you--you dud--don't--m--m--mean to sus--say--\" he stammered.\n\n\"Father, dear, did you ever try to cut calves-foot jelly with a steel\nknife?\" she asked.\n\n\"Yes, child, yes--but what of that?\" he demanded, completely nonplussed.\n\n\"Well, dear,\" she answered, kissing him on the tip end of his nose,\n\"that is hard labor compared to spinning gold out of straw.\"\n\nShe ran from him, laughing merrily as she hurried up the stairs to her\nroom, while he, staggering back against the newel-post of the staircase,\nleaned on it, breathing heavily.\n\n\"If that's the case,\" he said, as with trembling hands he took a set of\nfalse whiskers and a steerage ticket for Naples from his pocket, \"I\nshall not need these.\"\n\nNevertheless, prudence bade him wait until he had seen the gold before\ndestroying the paraphernalia of his possible flight, and oh, the joy of\nthat Saturday morning, when Gasmerilda, having, by an almost\nsuper-human effort, having rid herself of the straw as her fairy\ngodmother had bade her to do, led her trembling father into her boudoir\nand showed him the glittering bar!\n\n\"Are you sure it's real?\" he quavered.\n\n\"I have had it stamped at the assay office, father,\" she replied. \"See!\"\n\nAnd she showed him the stamps of the authorized government test.\n\n\"My child!\" he cried, dancing about the room in a delirium of joy. \"My\nbeloved, my beautiful daughter--was ever miller so blessed as I! Wait!\"\n\nRushing madly to the jeweled 'phone, he rang up Colonel Midas.\n\n\"Excuse me for bothering you, Colonel,\" he said, excitedly, \"but this is\nMiller. I thought you would be interested to know that my daughter has\nturned the trick a little sooner than I expected. If you want to see the\ngold to-day instead of waiting until Monday, all you've got to do is to\nsay so.\"\n\nThe wire fairly sizzled with the reply. Of course, Colonel Midas\nwould not wait. In fact, he'd be right up. How much did the miller think\nthe gold would pan out?\n\n\"Oh, about a thousand dollars,\" replied the miller.\n\n\"What?\" roared Midas. \"A thousand dollars' worth of gold from a\nseven-dollar bub--bale of straw?\"\n\n\"That's the assay office estimate,\" said the miller, with a smile. \"You\ncan't very well go behind that.\"\n\nThe answer was a long, low whistle, and within twenty minutes the great\nfinancier's car came chugging up to the door, and he entered the house,\nbringing with him a chemist.\n\n[Illustration: \"THIS IS THE GREATEST CINCH IN THE HISTORY OF FINANCE\"]\n\n\"By Jingo! Miller,\" he cried, after the chemist had applied every known\ntest to the bar and declared it to be, beyond all question, the real\nstuff, \"by Jingo, old man, our fortune is made. This is the greatest\ncinch in the history of finance.\"\n\n\"Looks that way,\" said the miller, calmly, leaning forward and tossing\nthe steerage ticket into the waste-basket.\n\n\"We--er--we must keep it in the family, Miller,\" the Colonel added,\nslapping the proud father familiarly on the knee--for Gasmerilda had\nremembered the fairy godmother's injunction as to the use of her eyes.\n\n\"I intend to, Colonel,\" said the miller, dryly. \"I'll keep it in _my_\nfamily if you don't mind--\"\n\nMidas gasped, and then he laughed sheepishly.\n\n\"To think that I, a hardened old bachelor, should be a victim to love at\nfirst sight!\" he said.\n\n\"Very funny indeed,\" laughed the miller.\n\n\"What would you say to me as a son-in-law, eh?\" Midas went on. \"You know\nI'm a decent chap, old man. No funny business about my private\nlife--it's a good chance to get your daughter settled in life, and--\"\n\n\"Well, I don't know,\" said the miller, coolly. \"You are generally\nconsidered to be a fairly eligible sort of person, Midas, but my\ndaughter can afford to marry for love as long as the straw crop holds\ngood.\"\n\nA glitter came into Midas's eye.\n\n\"What if I were to corner the market?\" he demanded.\n\n\"That would be bad for Gasmerilda and me,\" the miller agreed. \"Mind you,\nI haven't said I disapproved of the match, but let's be perfectly frank\nwith each other. I'm not going to sell my daughter to you or to anybody\nelse, but you know how things run these days. A man's a millionaire\nto-day and a member of the down-and-out club to-morrow. Now, I don't\nknow the first blessed thing about your prospects. You are rich now, but\nwho knows that before 1915 you won't be in a federal jail somewhere\nwithout a nickel?\"\n\n\"I see your point,\" said Midas, \"and I'll settle five million on her\nto-morrow.\"\n\n\"Real money?\" he demanded.\n\n\"Real money,\" said Midas.\n\n\"Done!\" ejaculated the miller.\n\nAnd so the papers settling five million dollars in approved securities\nupon the miller's daughter were executed, and three months later that\ninvincible old bachelor, John W. Midas, for whom countless widows had\nset their caps in vain, was led to the altar by the blushing and happy\nGasmerilda. The groom's gift to the bride was a princely one, consisting\nof ten million dollars' worth of the preferred stock of the newly\norganized American Straw and Hay Trust, of which Colonel Midas was\npresident, a concern controlling all the leading straw industries of the\nUnited States and some said of foreign lands as well. The papers called\nit the most brilliant match of the season, but, none the less, the bride\nhad some misgivings. She knew, and somehow or other in the perspective\nof the vista of wedded bliss ahead of her, no larger than a pin-head,\nshe seemed at times to see the first faint symptoms of a cloud which\nmight sooner or later obscure the whole heavens; aye, even that vast\nstretch of blue that reached from the easternmost part of New York to\nthe westernmost boundaries of Reno, Nevada. Still, back of this was a\nsilver--nay, a golden--lining, for Gasmerilda was now the possessor in\nher own right of five million dollars in real money, and with such a\npossession in hand one can stand a good deal of domestic\nmisunderstanding.\n\nAnd even then there was the chance that the sporting instincts of\nColonel Midas would prove to be such that he would admire the genius\nback of the transmutation that had originally won him--in addition to\nwhich was the other fact that already, without a bale in sight, he had\nsold the public over fifty millions' worth of the common stock in the\nUnited States Straw and Hay Trust at 97-7/8.\n\nThe first check out of Gasmerilda's new account was as follows:\n\n  New York, January 17, 1911\n\n  No. 1\n\n\n  Pay to the order of The Fairy's Aid Society of America\n  Seven hundred and fifty thousand Dollars\n  ($750,000.00)\n\n  GASMERILDA MILLER MIDAS\n\nAnd she lived extravagantly forever afterward.\n\n\n\n\nV\n\nTHE INVISIBLE CLOAK\n\n\n\"I am very sorry, sorr,\" said the janitor as he turned off the heat and\ndisconnected the electric lights. \"'Tain't me as is doin' ut--ut's the\nowner of the buildin'. He says the rint ain't been paid for six mont's,\nand while he ain't hard-hearted enough to turn nobody out on the sthreet\nsuch weather as this, he don't see no use in dandlin' tinants what don't\npay in no lap o' luxury.\"\n\nJack looked at the man in silence, completely stunned by this new\ndevelopment in a situation already sufficiently distressing.\n\n\"'Let him enjye all the pleasures of the roof, Mike,' says he,\"\ncontinued the janitor, \"'but no wooin' of his beauty sleep to the soft\nmusic of the steam-radiator, nor 'lectric lights to cheer the dark\nplaces of his sperrit whin twilight comes. Ut's the land of the Midnight\nSun for his till I see th' color of his bank account.'\"\n\n\"But I shall freeze if you turn off the heat,\" protested Jack.\n\n\"That's the answer, I guess,\" returned the janitor. \"Ut's a pretty cold\nsnap we do be havin'.\"\n\nJack buried his face in his hands and groaned. Things had gone ill for\nthe unhappy lad for a long time now, and the sudden precipitation of\nwinter weather found him practically penniless. For one reason or\nanother no one seemed to care for his poetry, and his last story, from\nthe proceeds of which he had expected to make enough to tide him over\nfor a little while at least, had been returned by every editor in town.\n\n\"Ut's mighty sorry for you, I am,\" said the kindly janitor, his heart\nstirred by the pitiable picture of suffering before him. \"I'd be afther\nleavin' t'ings as they are if I dared, but the old man's orders--\"\n\n\"I know, I know,\" said Jack, wearily, \"but it's awfully tough just the\nsame. I can get along without food, but without light and heat I don't\nsee how I can do my work.\"\n\n\"I'll lend yez a candle, sorr,\" said the janitor. \"That'll help some. Ye\ncan warm your hands over the flame of ut while you're doin' your\nt'inkin', and ut'll give ye light enough to put down what ye t'ink in\nbetween times.\"\n\n\"Good old Mike!\" said Jack, wringing the other by the hand warmly. \"When\nmy ship comes in you shall have a good slice of the cargo for that.\"\n\n\"Sure an' she ain't la'nched yet, is she?\" asked the janitor, with a\ngrin, and then, as Jack seemed to have sunk into a dejected reverie, he\ngathered up his tools and left the room.\n\nAn hour passed before the miserable lad even so much as raised his head.\n\n\"Jove! it's cold!\" He shivered, as he gazed around him, the room bathed\nin the gathering shadows of twilight. \"And to think that it was only\nlast summer that I was complaining because this place was so infernally\nhot!\"\n\nHis teeth chattered as he spoke, and he suddenly bethought himself of\nhis fur-lined overcoat hanging in the closet, his very last possession,\nand one he had worn persistently of late, not so much because the\ntemperature of the town required it as to maintain publicly an\nappearance of prosperity.\n\n\"I'll take one last wear out of you,\" he said, as he put it on, \"and\nto-morrow I'll put you in cold storage at the house of mine Uncle. He\nalready has my watch, my scarf-pin, and everything else that I have\nthat is negotiable--he might as well top his collection off with you.\"\n\nThe thought that the useful old garment was still good enough to act as\na satisfactory bit of security for a temporary accommodation at the\nneighboring pawnshop cheered him up somewhat, and he went out, seeking a\ncomfortable spot where with his last half-dollar he could assuage the\ngrowing pangs of hunger. As he left the house he noticed that the snow\nwas beginning to fall, so he decided not to go very far afield for his\nmeal. A cheap restaurant half-way down the block, on the avenue,\nattracted his eye, and he went in and ordered his dinner--twenty-five\ncents' worth of roast beef and a cup of coffee for himself, and the\nbalance to tip the waiter. He ate slowly, though this was not his habit,\nmerely because the place was warm and bright, and as he lingered over\nhis coffee he wrote a sonnet on life on the back of the bill of fare.\nThen, his account paid, he started back to his apartment. As he left\nthe cafe the wheezing notes of a minute hand-organ playing \"The Good Old\nSummer-time\" fell upon his ear. It sounded very much like a\ntalking-machine in the last stages of bronchitis, and then, suddenly, in\nthe midst of a \"B-flat\" that sounded more like a sneeze than a note, a\nheartrending picture of misery and desolation smote upon his vision. On\nthe corner, exposed to all the icy winds that blew up the avenue, and\nover the cross-streets from the river, huddled up into a seeming mass of\nrags, over which the falling snow was drifting, was the form of an aged\nwoman, turning the crank of a battered and broken organ with fitful\ntwists of her poor blue hands.\n\n\"Holy smoke!\" cried Jack, as his eye fell upon the old woman's bent\nfigure. \"And I have been sympathizing with myself for the last four\nhours!\"\n\nIn an instant he had whipped off his overcoat--the fur-lined coat that\nhad been his only hope for immediate financial relief--and had thrown\nit across the poor old shoulders.\n\n\"Excuse me, madam,\" he said, as the old woman stopped grinding the organ\nto look gratefully up into his face. \"If I had any money I'd give it to\nyou, but I'm dead broke myself, and I can't help you that way. But, by\nthunder! I can't stand seeing you freeze!\"\n\n\"Oh, I cannot take your coat, sir,\" the old woman began.\n\n\"Yes, you can,\" said Jack. \"If you don't want it as an act of charity,\nlet me have a quarter to buy my breakfast to-morrow morning, and you can\nhave the coat for the time being. I'll rent it to you over-night for a\nquarter. You can return it in the morning. I live right across the\nstreet at the Redmere.\"\n\nThe old woman muttered a scarcely audible word of thanks.\n\n\"Heaven will reward you for this,\" she began.\n\n\"That's all right,\" said Jack, cheerfully. \"I'm not looking for\ndividends of that particular kind. I'll consider it a good bargain if\nyou'll just rent this old horse-blanket for the night for twenty-five\ncents. Then nobody will be under obligation to anybody else.\"\n\nThe old woman smiled even as she shivered, and diving down into the\nmysterious depths of her ragged garments produced a handful of pennies\nwhich she handed to the unexpected philanthropist.\n\n\"I will return the coat in the morning,\" she said. \"Good-night!\"\n\nAnd again the withered hand began to turn the crank, and the suffering\norgan, as Jack sped across the way to the Redmere again, began to wheeze\nas before, taking a turn this time at that popular melody, \"There'll Be\na Hot Time in the Old Town To-night.\"\n\n\"Poor old hag!\" muttered Jack as, without removing his clothes, he\nclimbed into bed and covered himself in addition with the bath-rug. \"I\nmay be ninety-seven different kinds of an ass, but here's to the Heart\nof Folly! I couldn't let that old creature freeze to death under my very\nwindow.\"\n\nAnd warmed by the thought of a kindly deed done he turned over and went\nto sleep.\n\nSo weary was the poor lad after the troublesome experiences of a day so\nfull of worry that he slept heavily and far into the next morning.\nIndeed, it required all the elbow power of Mike, the janitor, hammering\nwith his great fist upon the door, to awaken him.\n\n\"Hello, there! What the dickens do you want?\" cried Jack, sleepily,\naroused at last from his slumbers by a thunderous kick upon the door\nfrom the janitorial foot.\n\n\"Ut's me, sorr,\" replied Mike.\n\n\"Oh, it's you, is it?\" said Jack, opening the door. \"What's the trouble\nnow? Orders from the landlord to stop my sleeping?\"\n\n\"No, sorr,\" replied the janitor. \"Sure an' I'm just afther bringin' yez\na package lift at the door.\"\n\n\"Confound you, Mike!\" growled Jack, with a glance at the clock. \"Nobody\ncan economize with a noise trust like you around. If you had only let me\nsleep an hour longer I could have saved the price of a breakfast!\"\n\n\"Well, the lady that lift this bundle tould me to give ut yez without\nanny delay,\" returned Mike. \"And whin annybody gives me a dollar to get\na move on I get ut.\"\n\n\"A lady gave you a dollar to hand this bundle to me?\" demanded Jack,\nincredulously.\n\n\"She did that,\" said Mike. \"She come drivin' up in her limybean\nmotor-car, and give me the package, and tould me not to let anny weeds\ngrow under me slippers.\"\n\nJack rubbed his eyes in astonishment, and gazed wonderingly at the\nbrown-paper package. What could it be? Certainly not his fur coat. A\nlimousine car and the lady of the wheezy hand-organ did not seem to go\ntogether. In an instant, consumed with curiosity, he tore off the\nbrown-paper covering, and found within a white pasteboard box, oblong in\nshape, and tied up with blue ribbon. Attached to the middle was a note,\nwhich, on being opened, revealed the following message to Jack's staring\neyes:\n\n  THE UNITED STATES FAIRY COMPANY\n  8976 WALL STREET\n  NEW YORK, _December 12, 1910_.\n\n     DEAR JACK,--I return your cloak herewith with many thanks\n     for your kindness to\n\n  Yours gratefully,\n  TITANIA J. GODMOTHER,\n  President The United States Fairy Co.\n\n\"Well, I'll be blowed!\" ejaculated the lad as he read. \"The old lady a\nfairy? I don't know about this--it has a phony look to me!\"\n\nAs he spoke he cut the blue ribbon with his penknife and opened the box.\nThe mystery, instead of being solved, now became all the deeper, for as\nfar as Jack's eye was able to see the box was empty.\n\nThe janitor grinned unsympathetically.\n\n\"Quare toime for an April-fool joke!\" he said, as he left the room.\n\nFor a few moments Jack was as silent as the Sphinx, and then, with a\nsudden surge of wrath that any one should play such a trick upon him, he\ngave the box a kick that sent it flying across the room. It landed on a\nchair, the cover fell off, and then, mystery of mysteries,\nthree-quarters of the chair disappeared wholly from sight. Again Jack\nrubbed his eyes in amazement, and slowly, like a trapper passing along a\nforest trail, he crept over to where the chair stood and put out his\nhand to feel for its missing parts. In a moment he was reassured as to\ntheir existence, for he could feel the outlines of the missing sections,\nbut something apparently lay across them. It was a soft, silky material,\ntangible enough, but absolutely invisible. It felt like a cloak, and as\nJack passed his hands along its folds he found that it had sleeves,\nbuttons, buttonholes, and a hood at the back of its collar, not to\nmention several capacious pockets within.\n\n\"Huh!\" he ejaculated. \"It feels like an invisible ulster. I wonder--\"\n\nAn idea flashed across his mind, acting upon which he seized the cloak,\nand rushed into his bedroom, where, standing before the mirror on his\nbureau, he put it on, buttoning it all the way up to his neck. This\ndone, he glanced at himself in the glass.\n\n_Only his head, which had remained uncovered, was reflected there!_\n\n\"Well of all--\" he began, astounded at the vision before him, or rather\nthe lack of it. Hastily he pulled the hood over his head, and\nimmediately, as far as the eye could see, he completely vanished.\n\nAnd then Jack knew what had happened.\n\nThe fairy godmother had given him one of the choicest possessions of her\nkingdom--the famous invisible cloak!\n\nTen minutes later Jack found himself passing through the Subway gate at\nForty-second Street, entirely unobserved by anybody, and therefore\nrelieved of the necessity of paying his fare. The invisible cloak was\ndoing its duty nobly, but a moment later the lad had an example of its\ndangers as well as of its virtues, for as he sat quietly by the door of\nthe car trying to collect his flustered thoughts, a very stout German\ngentleman got aboard the train and sat down heavily upon him. He did not\nstay, however, but on the contrary, with a startled cry of alarm, rose\nup as quickly as he had sat down.\n\n[Illustration: \"DERE ISS SOMEDINGS IN DOT SEADT, ALRETTY YET!\"]\n\n\"Dere iss somedings in dot seadt, alretty yet!\" he cried to the guard,\nexcitedly.\n\nJack slipped noiselessly out of the seat, and the guard, after feeling\naround in it for a second or two, turned with scorn upon the astonished\nTeuton, and in language of a slightly unparliamentary cast advised him\nto change his diet.\n\n\"You'll be seein' t'ings next!\" he said.\n\nJack shook with internal laughter as the amazed son of the Rhine sat\ncautiously down again, his face showing a deal of relief to find that\nhis first spooky impression was not correct, all of which for the\nremainder of the trip down-town he openly expressed with considerable\nvolubility. Finally he was interrupted by the raucous voice of the guard\ncrying:\n\n\"Wall Street!\"\n\nNow Jack had not consciously started out to go to Wall Street, but the\nannouncement of the train's arrival there gave him a thrill.\n\n\"Wall Street, eh?\" he muttered. \"Ha! Hum! Methinks the financial\nstringency is over if this little old coat holds out! I seem to detect\nthe odor of money.\"\n\nHe mounted the steps to the street, and wandered aimlessly down the\ngreat financial highway until he found himself standing before the\ngorgeous facade of the famous Urban National Bank. Here he paused a\nmoment, and curiosity as much as anything else led him to enter its\nportals, and there within lay spread before his famished financial eyes,\nseparated from his hands only by a slight bit of steel grillwork,\ncountless packages, huge of bulk, of bank-notes, in all denominations,\nany one of which, once in his possession, would serve to put him at ease\nfor the remainder of the year. Monte Cristo himself had no such stores\nof wealth within his reach in the treasure-caves of his wondrous island.\nThe teller behind the grill was counting the contents of his safe, and\nas he bent over to foot up a column of figures Jack stopped in front of\nthe little window and said:\n\n\"Good-morning!\"\n\nHe did this not so much for the fun of it as for a precautionary test of\nhis invisibility, for a great scheme had entered his mind. The teller\nlooked up, craned his neck in every direction, and peered around to see\nwho had addressed him.\n\n[Illustration: \"THERE MUST BE SOMETHING THE MATTER WITH MY NERVES\"]\n\n\"There must be something the matter with my nerves this morning,\" he\nsaid, scratching his head in bewilderment. \"I was sure somebody spoke to\nme.\"\n\nJack had all he could do to keep from laughing outright, but safety bade\nhim restrain the impulse, and in a moment he had climbed over the steel\ngrillwork and entered the sacred precincts of Ready Money. Once within\nthe teller's cage his heart began to thump so violently that it seemed\nimpossible for him to escape detection, but so busy were all the bank\npeople with the duties of the day that no one seemed to hear. And then\nour hero began. Within five minutes he had stowed away within the\ncapacious pockets of his invisible cloak as many of the packages of\nbills, green-backed and yellow, as he could possibly carry there, and\nthen, slipping out through the little door at the rear of the cage, he\nwalked calmly out of the bank with them. Arrived on Broadway, he removed\nhis coat and, hanging it over his arm, took a taxicab back to the\nRedmere.\n\nHe could hardly wait until he reached his apartment to count up the\nresults of his morning's work, but his caution stood by him, and it was\nnot until he had locked his door and barricaded it with the bureau\nrolled in front of it that he opened the various packages. There were\nten of them altogether, and Jack's eyes nearly popped out of his head\nwith wonder as he saw so much real money spread out before him. Three of\nthe packages held one thousand dollars each in twenty-dollar bills, four\nof them held five hundred dollars each in five-dollar bills, and the\nother three totalled fifteen hundred dollars in ones and\ntwos--sixty-five hundred dollars altogether.\n\n\"Mike!\" he cried, going to the dumbwaiter shaft, and calling down,\nvociferously, \"turn on the heat, and tell the boss to send a truck\naround here for his rent.\"\n\nHiding the money under the mattress of his bed, Jack removed the\ninvisible cloak and hung it in the closet, taking care to lock the door\nthereof, and then he started to shave. His hand trembled too much for\nthis, however, and after he had snipped off two or three pieces of his\ncheek he abandoned the effort, but his brief trial before the glass had\na distinct moral influence upon him, for as his eye caught its own\nreflection in the mirror, and Jack came to look himself squarely in the\nface for the first time since his removal of the money from the bank, he\nfound that he could not do it. His eye faltered and fell, and the\nquestion flashed across his mind as to the honesty of his morning's\nwork.\n\n\"Hum!\" he muttered, sitting down suddenly on his bed and staring at a\nhole in the carpet, \"I hadn't thought of that before! What would my poor\nbut honest parents think about this?\"\n\nHe scratched the end of his nose thoughtfully.\n\n\"It isn't any too straight, even in these days of frenzied finance,\" he\nwent on; \"that is, it isn't unless I regard this thing as a loan! Of\ncourse if it's a loan--yes, it must be. Otherwise I'm no better than any\nother--\"\n\nHis brow cleared as the idea entered his mind.\n\n\"I'll make it O. K. in a jiffy,\" he said.\n\nHe went to his writing-desk, and wrote to the cashier of the Urban\nNational Bank as follows:\n\n  NEW YORK, _December 12, 1910_.\n  _Cashier, the Urban National Bank,_\n  _New York City:_\n\n     DEAR SIR,--I think it only proper to inform you that,\n     unknown to yourself or any other person in your bank, I have\n     this morning negotiated a loan with your institution for six\n     thousand five hundred dollars. I have a temporary need for\n     this accommodation, and in order that the transaction may\n     appear a trifle less informal, I beg to hand you herewith my\n     six-months note for the amount borrowed, together with one\n     hundred and ninety-five dollars in cash to cover discount\n     charges, reckoned on a six-per-cent. basis. Please\n     acknowledge receipt of the same in the Personal Column of\n     the New York _Morning Gazoo_.\n\n     The charming ease and promptness with which this\n     transaction was put through have given me a more than\n     friendly feeling for your bank, and now that I have used one\n     package of your money I take pleasure in saying that I shall\n     not only recommend it to my friends, but shall hereafter use\n     no other.\n\n  Cordially yours,\n  A FRIEND IN NEED.\n\nThis written, Jack purchased a blank promissory note at a stationery\nstore on the corner and filled it in.\n\n  $6,500.       NEW YORK, _December 12, 1910_.\n\n     Six months after date I promise to pay to the order of the\n     Urban National Bank Six thousand five hundred dollars at the\n     Urban National Bank, New York City. Value received.\n\n  ME.\n\nBoth these interesting documents he now inclosed in an envelope, with\none hundred and ninety-five dollars in bills, sending the whole by\nspecial-delivery mail to the cashier of the bank.\n\n\"There!\" said Jack, when he had completed this righteous act. \"I can\nnow look myself in the eye again.\"\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nFrom this time on Jack wore his invisible cloak nearly all the time. He\nfound it very convenient, especially when he wished to go to the\ntheatre, or to ride on any of our vehicles of public transportation.\nOnce he seriously contemplated a trip to Europe in it, but this was\npostponed by a sudden important development which called for his\nattention nearer home. While seated in the back of Colonel Midas's box\nat the Metropolitan Opera House one night, listening to the dreamy\nnumbers of \"La Boheme,\" utterly unobserved, of course, by any of the\nother occupants of the box, thanks to his magic cloak, Jack overheard\nColonel Midas engaged in a strenuous conversation with one of his male\nrelatives, who had asked the eminent financier for some kind of a tip\nthat would make a rich man of him.\n\n\"If you'll tell me whether the San Francisco, Omaha & Mott Haven is\ngoing to buy the K., T. & W. or not, Colonel,\" the man had said, \"I can\nmake a million or two.\"\n\n\"Of course you could, Jim,\" said the Colonel, \"but I can't tell you now\nwhat will be done in that matter. I don't know myself whether we'll buy\nK., T. & W. or build our own connecting line. We haven't decided. If we\ndo buy, the stock will go jumping up ten, twenty, thirty points at a\ntime. If we don't, the bottom will drop out of it. It's the turn of a\nhand which way that cat will jump, but I'll do this for you: As soon as\nI do know I'll give you twenty-four hours' start with the inside\ninformation. We have a secret meeting to-morrow at my office to discuss\nthe matter, and when we come to a definite understanding I'll give you\nthe tip. What I can tell you now is that the new line into Buffalo is\ngoing to run through Rocky Corners, and anybody who gets hold of old\nHiram Bumpus's farm up there under a hundred thousand will clear half a\nmillion without getting out of bed.\"\n\n\"Why don't you go in and buy it yourself?\" demanded the other.\n\n\"Because I'm not wasting my gray matter on piking little\nhalf-million-dollar deals, that's why,\" retorted Midas, with a glance of\nscorn at his guest.\n\nBursting with this valuable information, Jack immediately left the Opera\nHouse and dispatched a rush telegram to Hiram Bumpus at Rocky Corners\noffering him fifty thousand dollars for his farm.\n\nThe answer came back the next morning:\n\n     Price of farm seventy-five thousand, cash. No checks taken.\n\n  HIRAM BUMPUS.\n\nTo which Jack immediately replied: \"Price satisfactory. Will arrive\nThursday with money.\"\n\nThis done, our hero proceeded to camp on the front doorstep of Colonel\nMidas, and when that distinguished financier appeared to take his motor\ndown to his office Jack, still wearing his invisible cloak, climbed in\nalongside of him, and hardly daring to breathe lest he should betray his\npresence in the car, rode down to the offices of the Midas Trust Company\nwith the magnate himself. Here Midas descended from the car, and Jack,\nclose upon his heels, followed him into that holy of financial holies,\nthe private office.\n\n\"Any word from Rockernegie?\" asked the Colonel of his secretary, as he\nseated himself at his desk, Jack meanwhile having perched himself on the\nmantelpiece.\n\n\"Here at ten,\" returned the secretary, laconically. They did not even\nwaste breath in that office.\n\n\"Moneypenny?\"\n\n\"Wires, here ten-fifteen.\"\n\n\"Asterbilt?\"\n\n\"Yachting. Mediterranean. Leaves all to you.\"\n\n\"Good!\" said Midas. \"When they come show them in, and I'm out to\neverybody else.\"\n\nAnd then it was that Jack had his first glimpse of really great men in\naction. By ten-thirty all the magnates of finance, with the exception of\nMr. Asterbilt, were on hand, and the secret meeting of the rulers of the\nSan Francisco, Omaha & Mott Haven Transcontinental Railway System was\non. They came down to business without any preliminaries.\n\n\"Is it buy or build?\" asked Midas.\n\n\"Buy,\" said Rockernegie.\n\n\"Build,\" said Moneypenny.\n\n\"All right--we buy,\" said Midas.\n\n\"It's a hold-up,\" said Moneypenny. \"K., T. & W. was built for no other\npurpose.\"\n\n\"Perfectly true,\" said Midas. \"Therefore, instead of announcing that we\nshall buy, thus sending the price up till it bumps against the Dipper,\nlet us announce that we have decided to build our own connecting line,\nand when K., T. & W. lands down around 1-7/8 we can go in and scoop it.\"\n\n\"Always right, Midas,\" said Rockernegie.\n\n\"I'll change my vote and make it unanimous,\" said Moneypenny, whereupon\nthe Colonel passed the cigars and the meeting stood adjourned. It had\ntaken seven minutes to settle a question involving millions upon\nmillions of dollars, and for a moment Jack stood aghast, but for no\nlonger than a moment, for the time for him to get busy had arrived. He\nwas in possession of the most valuable secret on Wall Street, and it\nbehooved him to begin operations. Passing hastily out of the office, he\nfirst paid a visit to the Urban National, where after an hour's hard\nwork he succeeded in getting $300,000 out of the vaults, leaving on the\ncashier's desk, while he was out at lunch, as security for his loan, a\nsufficient amount of gilt-edged collateral, also taken from the vaults\nof the bank itself.\n\n\"It's all right,\" Jack wrote in his memorandum to the cashier. \"I have a\nbig transaction on hand which can't help win out, and I shall rejoice\nyour heart by liquidating all my loans with you before spring. After\nall, my dear sir, all business must be done on confidence, and I assure\nyou you can have plenty in me. I know myself through and through, and\ncan testify to my absolute integrity. Meanwhile let me repeat that your\nmoney is the best I have ever used, and is received everywhere with real\nenthusiasm.\"\n\nThat night before he retired, operating through a dozen brokers' offices\nso as not to attract undue attention, Jack purchased five thousand\nshares of K., T. & W. at 20, paying for them in cash. The next morning\non the announcement from Colonel Midas's office that the San Francisco,\nOmaha & Mott Haven road had decided not to take over the property,\nK., T. & W. fell off to 10, at which figure, after a hurried visit to\nthe bank, Jack acquired ten thousand more shares. At the end of the\nweek K., T. & W. had slumped to 3-1/8, whereat Jack pyramided by taking\nover twenty thousand more, all paid for in cash, having meanwhile sent\nhis lawyer to Rocky Corners with seventy-five thousand dollars to close\nhis real-estate deal with Hiram Bumpus.\n\nIn the brief period of ten days the unfortunate tenant of the freezing\napartment at the Redmere had become the owner of fifty thousand shares\nof K., T. & W., as well as the proprietor of a thirty-thousand-acre farm\nthrough which a new line of railway was sure to pass.\n\nSo the campaign went on over the Christmas season. Jack, by following\nclose on the heels of Midas or Moneypenny, it mattered little which,\nsecured inside information as to every deal of magnitude on Wall Street\nwhole days, and even weeks, before anybody else knew about it; and\nhaving the resources of the Urban National to draw upon at need, he was\nnever at a loss how to finance himself. January came, and just as it\nseemed as if K., T. & W. was about to be wiped out of existence came the\nreport that the property had been acquired by the San Francisco, Omaha &\nMott Haven crowd, and that its stock had been put on an eight-per-cent.\nguaranteed-dividend basis. The quotation immediately began to soar.\nK., T. & W. began to jump like a kangaroo. First it leaped to 30, then\nto 68. On the tenth of January it opened at 128-7/8, and closed at 150,\nwhere it stuck. For a time Jack waited for a further rise, but it failed\nto come, and in February he sold one hundred and twenty thousand shares,\nwhich had cost him on an average of $7 a share, for $150 a share,\nrealizing a profit of $17,160,000. Reference to his books showed that he\nhad drawn on the Urban National for a trifle over $1,250,000, which sum\nhe now started to return in the same laborious fashion in which it had\nbeen acquired. Every day for a period of ten days the lad would put on\nhis invisible cloak, and at the cashier's lunch-hour would walk into his\noffice and deposit a great bundle of currency on his desk. Once he found\nthat gentleman, and the president of the bank as well, awaiting him, but\nit made no difference. Secure in the concealment of his marvellous\ncloak, Jack stood in the doorway and tossed the package of bills into\nthe room, hitting the astonished president of the bank himself squarely\nin the stomach with it.\n\nIn this way complete restitution with interest was made, and on the\nfirst of February Jack found himself clear of all obligations, with a\ncomfortable fortune of over $15,000,000 on his hands, which made any\nfurther involuntary loans on the bank's part unnecessary; but what was\neven better than this, the meteoric successes of the young millionaire\nupon the Street brought him such renown that it was not long before the\npowers began to take notice.\n\n\"That young man,\" said Colonel Midas, after watching him for a little\nwhile, \"is the most singularly astute person I ever met. I don't wish to\nbe vulgar, but he has been the nigger in every woodpile I have tackled\nfor six months. He knows what I am going to do almost as quick as I do.\nWe'll have to take him in the firm.\"\n\n\"He has a singularly keen premonition as to values,\" observed Mr.\nRockernegie. \"I've half a mind to start a trust company and make him\npresident.\"\n\nAs for Mr. Moneypenny, after a year's experience at finding Jack at the\nbottom of pretty nearly every scheme he went into, he made the following\nobservation to his daughter, as he pointed Jack out to her at the\nopera--in his own box now--one night.\n\n\"That young man in the third box on the left, my dear, is young Mr. Jack\nHardluck. He's so keen that I don't even dare think what I'm going to do\nfor fear he'll find it out!\"\n\n\"If that's the case, papa,\" said Miss Moneypenny, blushing, \"the best\nthing to do is to take him into the family. Don't you think you'd\nbetter--\"\n\nThe girl hung her head shyly.\n\n\"Better what, my dear?\" asked the old billionaire, kindly.\n\n\"Give him to me for a Christmas present?\" she answered. \"I think I could\nget to like him very, very much.\"\n\nAnd, indeed, that is how it came to be that in due course of time the\nyoung financier became the son-in-law of one of the financial powers of\nthe world.\n\nAs for the invisible cloak, Jack wears it now only to travel _incog._,\nwhich for a multi-millionaire is sometimes convenient.\n\nIncidentally and in conclusion, let me add that Mike Brannigan,\nonce the janitor of the Redmere, is now the owner of that handsome\napartment-house, having received the title-deeds through the mails from\nsome anonymous benefactor.\n\n\"Who the divvle sint it, I dinnaw!\" he said. \"Nor what for he done it,\nnayther. I ain't never done nothin' to injure nobody!\"\n\n\n\n\nVI\n\nTHE RETURN OF ALADDIN\n\n\nNight had fallen over the city, but the work in the little tailor shop on\nthe Bowery still went on. The toiling widow of Mustafa, the incorporated\nvalet of the Bachelors' Aid Society, who had died the winter before,\nleaving his family with nothing but a few debts and his ironing-board,\nwas wearily struggling with the last batch of undarned socks received\nthat morning from the association. She sighed deeply as she labored, for\nher fingers were sore with many stitches.\n\n\"Heigho!\" she murmured, sadly. \"Why don't these bachelors get married\nand have this sort of thing done at home, I wonder? This is the\nten-thousandth sock I have darned since Christmas, and as for the\nsuspender buttons, the good Lord only knows how many of those I have\nsewed on. There ought to be a law compelling men to marry on penalty of\nhaving to do their own mending.\"\n\nPoor woman! In the weariness of her spirit she little dreamed that she\nwas growing petulant with her bread and butter. Suddenly she heard the\ndoor of the little shop without open, and her son Aladdin entered, a\ngreat, buoyant lad of twenty, cheerful of spirit and a good deal of a\ngiant physically.\n\n\"Well, Worthless,\" she said, with an affectionate glance into his fine\neyes, \"where have you been all day?\"\n\n\"Looking for work, mother, as usual,\" said the young man, throwing a\nsmall package on the table. \"And you?\"\n\n\"The same old drudgery, dear,\" she replied, with a sigh. \"Did you have\nany luck?\"\n\n\"No, mother dear, not a bit,\" replied Aladdin.\n\n\"Do you mean to tell me that in all this great city there is no work of\nany kind that a hale, hearty, hungry boy like you can get to do?\" she\ndemanded.\n\n\"Plenty of it, mother,\" replied the boy; \"plenty of it, but nothing in\nmy special line. Lots of snow-shovelling jobs and a position as guard on\nthe Subway were offered me, but I cannot demean myself by taking\nanything of that sort, Mummsy dear. Father in the last days of his life\nspent too many hours teaching me how to raise mushrooms under glass for\nme to dishonor his memory by undertaking labor that is beneath that in\nartistic quality, and just at present I cannot find anybody in all this\ncity who wants a helper in mushroom culture.\"\n\n\"Then we shall have to go supperless to bed,\" sighed the poor woman.\n\"Not a penny in the house and the pantry bare. Oh, Aladdin, Aladdin, why\nwill you not give up this false pride of yours and get some kind of a\njob that will at least feed yourself and help me pay the rent?\"\n\nThe boy was silent. He had had this same argument with his mother time\nand time and again, and he was quite aware of the futility of speech in\ntrying to overcome her objections to what she termed his incorrigible\nidleness.\n\n\"What have you in the package?\" the woman asked, after a prolonged\nsilence.\n\n\"I don't know,\" replied Aladdin. \"I picked it up outside the stage-door\nof the Helicon Theatre. I saw it lying in the snow and I brought it\nalong with me. It is probably some kind of a make-up box belonging to\none of the performers. If there is any reward offered in any of the\nmorning papers for its return, maybe I shall earn a few honest pennies\nby taking it back to its owner.\"\n\nHis mother busied herself with the string, and in a moment it came\nuntied and a small brass lamp rolled out of the brown-paper covering. It\nwas very dirty and much battered.\n\n[Illustration: \"HUMPH!\" SAID SHE, SCORNFULLY]\n\n\"Humph!\" said she, scornfully, gazing at the homely little object. \"I\ndon't think anybody will be foolish enough to offer a reward for a\ntrumpery little thing like that.\"\n\n\"Ah, well,\" said Aladdin, gazing out of the shop window at the scurrying\ncrowds on the sidewalk, \"it might be worse, Mummsy dear. We at least\nhave a roof over our heads this night, which is more than some of those\npoor wretches have, and unless I am very much mistaken this storm that\nis upon us is going to be a blizzard.\"\n\nIn very truth a blizzard had descended upon the city. All the\ntransportation lines were blocked, and over on Broadway all traffic had\nbeen tied up for hours. Thanks to the elevated-railway structure, this\nportion of the Bowery still remained passable. Even this was\nmomentarily piling higher and higher with the snow, and the wind was in\none of its most violently rampageous moods.\n\n\"How would you feel if your little Aladdin had a job as a chauffeur on a\nnight like this?\" the lad went on.\n\nThe poor woman shuddered and was about to reply, when a terrific crash\nfrom without drove all thought of words from her mind. Hastily running\nto the window, she, too, peered out into the street for a moment over\nAladdin's shoulder, but only for a moment, for in an instant the boy was\nup and making for the door of the little tailor shop. A heavy limousine\ncar lay overturned upon its side upon the walk, its wheels having\nskidded on the slippery, snow-covered pavement, and striking the curb,\ntoppled completely over. Aladdin, with the agility of a small monkey,\nsoon mounted to the upper side of the overturned vehicle, and, opening\nthe door, had assisted a beautifully arrayed young woman, possibly a\nyear or two younger than himself, from within, and after her, fuming\nand condemning his luck and the world in general, a gray-haired and\napparently irascible old gentleman.\n\n\"Mother!\" cried Aladdin, as the girl fainted in his arms, \"come quickly.\nThe young lady has fainted.\"\n\nThe good woman needed no second bidding. She hastened to his side, and\nthe limp form of the young girl was carried in her strong, motherly arms\ninto the little back room behind the tailor shop, which formed their\nonly home. Shortly afterward the old gentleman came also, ushered in by\nAladdin.\n\n\"She is safe?\" cried he, with an anxious glance at the prostrate form of\nhis daughter.\n\n\"Perfectly so, sir,\" replied Aladdin's mother. \"She has only fainted.\nWon't you sit down, sir?\" she added. \"You look a little shaken up\nyourself.\"\n\n\"Thank you,\" said the old gentleman, gazing around the room vainly in\nsearch of a chair. \"Ah--what shall I sit down on, madam?\"\n\n\"Try the stove, sir,\" laughed Aladdin. \"It may warm it up a bit.\"\n\nThe old man gazed frowningly at the boy, not relishing such levity at so\nserious a moment, and Aladdin, slightly embarrassed by his own\nfrivolity, tried to cover his confusion by seizing the lamp that had\nfallen from the package, and polishing its highly oxidized surface by\nrubbing it on the patched knee of his trousers. And then a strange thing\ncame to pass. At the moment of the first attrition between his knee and\nthe little brass lamp the room seemed to fill with a gray mist and in\nits gathering depths Aladdin perceived the huge figure of a blackamoor\ngradually taking shape.\n\n\"What the dickens!\" muttered the lad to himself as the strange\napparition rose up before him, rubbing his eyes to make sure that he saw\nclearly. \"What do you want?\" he added, springing to his feet as the\ngenie approached him.\n\n\"I have come in response to your summons,\" replied the blackamoor. \"Give\nyour orders, sir!\"\n\nAladdin grinned broadly at this. The idea of his ever giving orders to\nanybody seemed so very absurd. Nevertheless, he fell in with the spirit\nof the hour.\n\n\"All right, Sambo,\" he returned. \"Get this gentleman a chair. There may\nbe an extra one up-stairs in the music-room.\"\n\nThe blackamoor disappeared for an instant and shortly returned bringing\nwith him the desired piece of furniture.\n\n\"Thank you,\" said the old gentleman, as he took his seat with an uneasy\nglance around him. The situation was not altogether without alarming\nfeatures. As for Aladdin, you could have knocked him over with a\npalm-leaf fan, so astonished was he at this unusual development.\n\n\"I wish I'd asked for something to eat,\" he muttered to himself.\n\n\"So do I,\" observed the old gentleman. \"I'd give five hundred dollars\njust now for a boiled egg.\"\n\n\"You ought to get one studded with diamonds at that price,\" laughed\nAladdin, and then just for a joke he turned to the blackamoor. \"Get this\ngentleman five hundred dollars' worth of boiled eggs, Sambo,\" he said.\n\n\"Hard or soft, sir?\" asked the genie.\n\n\"Three minutes,\" said the old gentleman.\n\nSambo made a low salaam to Aladdin, and departing, he returned four\nminutes later followed by seven other blackamoors just like him, each\ncarrying a large wicker hamper on his shoulders. These they deposited in\nvarious parts of the room, and, gravely opening them, disclosed to the\nastounded gaze of Aladdin and his unknown guest hundreds of eggs,\nsteaming as though freshly taken from the pot.\n\n[Illustration: \"THIS IS A HALF-PORTION, SIR,\" SAID SAMBO]\n\n\"This is a half-portion, sir,\" said Sambo, addressing Aladdin. \"We will\nreturn with the remainder in a minute, sir.\"\n\n\"Just wait a second,\" said Aladdin, scratching his head in bewilderment\nat the sight of so many eggs obtained with such ease. \"It may be that\nthese will be enough for the time being. I'll ask the old chap. Excuse\nme, Mr.--er--Mr.--er, I didn't catch your name, sir.\"\n\n\"I am Major Bondifeller, president of the United Mints of North\nAmerica,\" replied the old gentleman. \"A person not to be trifled with,\nyoung man, as you probably know very well.\"\n\nAladdin gasped, as well he might. Here was old Rufus Bondifeller,\nreputed to be the richest man in the world, a guest in his mother's\nfast-failing little remnant of a tailor shop.\n\n\"Gud-glad to mum-meet you, sir,\" stammered Aladdin. \"Do you think\nthere's enough eggs here to satisfy your hunger? There appears to be\ntwo hundred and fifty dollars' worth here now, but if you wish the rest\nserved immediately--\"\n\n\"Great heavens, no!\" roared Bondifeller. \"When I said I'd give five\nhundred dollars for a boiled egg I was merely speaking figuratively. A\nrich man can't eat any more boiled eggs at a sitting than a poor man;\nfact is, half the time he can't eat as many without a bad attack of\nangina pectoris.\"\n\n\"All right,\" said Aladdin, resolved to carry off the extraordinary\nsituation with an outward nonchalance, in spite of the inner turmoil\nthat kept his brain whirling. \"You needn't bother about the rest of\nthose eggs now, Sambo. Major Bondifeller can get along on these.\"\n\nThe blackamoor and his companions disappeared even as they had come,\napparently irrespective of doorways, and utterly regardless of walls.\nThey seemed merely to melt through whatever solid substances there might\nbe between themselves and annihilation. As for Major Bondifeller, as he\nobserved these strange developments, his face grew set and rigid. He\neyed every movement of the blackamoors with uneasy attention until they\nhad vanished from sight, and then his flashing eye was riveted upon\nAladdin. Finally he spoke, sharply and to the point.\n\n\"Well,\" he snapped, \"how much?\"\n\nAladdin started. The icy tone of the speaker's voice chilled him, and it\nwas so peremptory that he felt for the moment as if he had been stung by\nthe lash.\n\n\"How much what?\" he said, finally, summoning up all his courage to face\nthe apparently angry millionaire.\n\n\"Don't try to evade the point,\" retorted the Major, coldly. \"Let's get\nthrough with the business as quickly as we can. It is plain as a\npikestaff to anybody having half an eye that, taking advantage of our\nmishap, you have lured my daughter and myself in here for your own\nprofit. No man keeps such a villainous-looking gang of niggers on hand\nwith an honest purpose. So what are your demands?\"\n\nAladdin laughed in spite of his disturbed frame of mind at the Major's\nsuspicions. It was such an absurd idea that he could be at the head of a\nbadger-gang, and yet, after all, he could not deny a certain sort of\nreasonableness in the notion from Major Bondifeller's point of view.\nAgain taking the lamp casually in his hand, more as an outlet for his\nembarrassment than for any other reason, he gave it a second rub and\nstarted to answer the Major's question, but, as before, the mist again\nappeared, and from its musty depths the blackamoor took shape and\nsalaamed before him.\n\n\"Well, what is it now, Sambo?\" demanded Aladdin, frowning at the\nintruder.\n\n[Illustration: \"YOU RUBBED THE LAMP, I BELIEVE?\"]\n\n\"Your orders, sir,\" said the blackamoor. \"You rubbed the lamp, I\nbelieve?\"\n\nAladdin's heart leaped into his mouth. _He had rubbed the lamp twice,\nand twice had it brought him aid!_ Surely, there must be some magic\nabout this.\n\n\"What if I did rub the lamp?\" he queried, in a tremulous voice. \"What's\nthat got to do with you?\"\n\n\"I and my comrades are slaves of the lamp, as your Highness very well\nknows,\" replied the blackamoor. \"Whatever your commands, the United\nOrder of Amalgamated Genii must obey.\"\n\n\"_Hooray!_\" cried Aladdin, dancing a wild fandango about the room. \"_Who\nwants the handsome waiter?_\"\n\nAs the full import of his new-found treasure dawned upon his mind, the\nlad's ecstasy bade fair to surpass all bounds, but the chilling voice of\nBondifeller served to calm his effervescing spirit.\n\n\"I want nothing but your proposition, so that I may get out of this den\nas speedily as possible,\" he was saying. \"I am not a man to beat about\nthe bush, and I realize that you have got me. What is it you demand?\"\n\n\"First and foremost, civility,\" said Aladdin, boldly, a sense of his own\npower sweeping over him and giving him confidence. \"I guess you'll find\nthat harder to negotiate than a check for a considerable sum, Major\nBondifeller, cash being a commoner commodity with you than civility.\nNow, as a matter of fact, sir,\" the lad went on, \"I had your daughter\ncarried in here out of that raging blizzard so that my mother could give\nher the attention she needed. You I brought in also with no more\nknowledge of who you were, and with no more idea of financially\nprofiting by your accident, than if you had been one of those\nunfortunate tramps out on the Bowery there. But now that you have put\nthe idea in my mind that, perhaps, after all, nobody ever does anything\nunselfishly in this world, I will make certain demands of you. To begin\nwith, you may pay me two hundred and fifty dollars for those eggs, and\nas a mere act of ordinary generosity, you may tip the handsome waiter\nfifty dollars. I understand, too, sir, that you are the proprietor of\nthese ten city blocks in which I and about twenty thousand of my\nneighbors are housed?\"\n\n\"I believe I do own considerable property hereabouts,\" said the\nmillionaire, sullenly, \"though I can't say offhand whether I do or not.\nMy agents look after my smaller investments.\"\n\n\"Well,\" said Aladdin, \"it don't make any difference to me whether you\nremember what you own or not. The results so far as you are concerned\nwill be the same. You will have these ten blocks of houses torn down and\nreplaced by model tenements, turning the alternate blocks into city\nparks for the children to play in.\"\n\n\"But suppose I don't own 'em?\" protested Bondifeller.\n\n\"What you don't own, Major Bondifeller,\" returned Aladdin, \"is too\ntrifling a detail for us to worry over. So long as you don't own me I\ndon't care a pickled herring what you do own. If it turns out upon\ninvestigation that any of these pig-pens on these ten city squares\nbelong to anybody else, buy 'em.\"\n\n\"Buy 'em?\" snarled Bondifeller. \"How can I buy 'em if the other man\nwon't sell?\"\n\n\"With money,\" said Aladdin; \"the same stuff you always use to buy\nanything else you happen to want, from an oil-painting or a Japanese\nporcelain up to a State legislature or a man's conscience.\"\n\n\"And if I don't agree?\" demanded the old man, a truculent glare in his\neye, an eye before which the so-called powerful men of the earth had\ntrembled more than once in the past.\n\nAladdin returned the gaze unflinchingly. Once more he rubbed the lamp,\nand the genie appeared as before.\n\n\"Sambo,\" said the lad, calmly, with a wink at the slave, \"is dungeon\nnumber thirty-seven on the fifteenth tier below the Subway occupied\nto-night?\"\n\n\"No, sir,\" replied the blackamoor, with a grin.\n\n\"Very well, then,\" said Aladdin, coldly; \"you may provide a special\nescort of fifteen of your best and most reliable genii and have them\ntake this young lady to her home at Zoocrest, Central Park East, taking\ncare that nothing shall occur either to frighten her or to make her\nuncomfortable in any way. Meanwhile, you yourself, with five of our\nbiggest huskies, will file this gentleman here away for the night in\ndungeon number thirty-seven, as aforesaid.\"\n\n\"As your Highness directs,\" replied the obedient blackamoor.\n\nIn a moment the still prostrate form of Miss Bondifeller was borne\ngently from the room and placed in a large touring-car that suddenly\nmaterialized without, and shortly Bondifeller, sitting ruefully alone in\nthe little back room, could hear it chugging up the snowbound street at\nas lively a pace as any racer ever struck upon the smoothest of\nboulevards. It was indeed an illuminating exhibition of the remarkable\nresources of this extraordinary young man, and, strange to say, a\ncontemplation of it gave the old gentleman a curious sense of pleasure.\nTo be sure, he appeared to be in rather a bad predicament, but all the\nsame it was a novel sensation to him to encounter somebody who\napparently did not fear him. This was an emotion that he had not enjoyed\nfor many years, and it was not without its titillation.\n\n\"I guess you've got me, young man,\" he said, rather meekly, when Aladdin\nreturned.\n\n\"I guess that's a good guess,\" retorted Aladdin, nonchalantly. \"There's\nonly one answer to the question that confronts you, and you've lit on it\nthe very first time. I don't intend to be at all vindictive, Major\nBondifeller,\" he continued, \"but a little lesson in arbitrary power\nisn't going to do you a bit of harm; so just make up your mind to take\nyour medicine, and let's save our breath to talk of more important\nthings. First thing, I'm hungry. Mother, please lay covers for three--\"\n\n\"But, my son,\" began the poor woman, who, in caring for the unconscious\ngirl, had seen nothing of what was going on, \"we haven't a morsel of\nfood in the--\"\n\n\"Do as I say, mother,\" said Aladdin, quickly. \"Sambo will attend to the\nrest.\"\n\n\"Gone clean out of his head, poor laddy!\" murmured his mother,\nhastening, nevertheless, to fulfil his commands, merely as a means of\nkeeping him quiet. Meanwhile, Aladdin, seizing the faithful lamp, gave\nit another rub, and when the blackamoor appeared he ordered a royal\nrepast--so royal, indeed, that old Major Bondifeller's eyes nearly\npopped out of his head as he ran over the order. A few suppers of that\nsort would have bankrupted even so flourishing a concern as the United\nMints of North America.\n\n\"Any favorite dish you'd like to add, Major?\" asked Aladdin, genially.\n\nThe old man's eyes filled with tears at this exhibition of kindness,\neven at this moment when they were practically enemies at swords'\npoints. He could not remember in his own line of effort in many years\nthat he had himself ever extended any consideration to a fallen foe.\n\n\"Why, I don't know,\" said he, his voice growing husky with emotion.\n\"Sometimes in the midst of all the luxury I am enjoying to-day my mind\nruns back to those early days on the old farm when my mother's apple\npies seemed to be the perfection of culinary art.\"\n\n\"Say no more, Major; you shall have your wish,\" laughed Aladdin. Then,\nturning to the waiting attendant, he added, \"Sambo, you may add to that\norder one full portion of pallid pippin pie for pale people, with a\nglass of buttermilk on the side.\"\n\nAn hour later the happy little party--for Major Bondifeller had warmed\nup considerably under the exhilarating influence of his strange\nsurroundings--broke up with a sense of repletion that neither Aladdin\nnor his poor mother had enjoyed for many years. Indeed, it is doubtful\nif the young man himself had ever had so square a meal as that in all\nhis life before. Over the cigars, Bondifeller tried to take up the\nthread of their before-dinner discourse.\n\n\"As for that business suggestion of yours--\" he began, flicking the ash\nairily from the end of his cigar, but Aladdin stopped him.\n\n\"I make it a rule never to talk business at or immediately after dinner,\nMajor,\" he said, reprovingly. \"The hour is late and dungeon number\nthirty-seven awaits you. I trust you will sleep well. Sambo, show this\ngentleman to his room.\"\n\n\"But--\" began Bondifeller.\n\n\"On your way, Sambo!\" said Aladdin. \"And, remember, that if this\ngentleman turns up missing in the morning you lose your union card.\nGood-night!\"\n\nWhen Aladdin awoke the following morning it was only natural that he\nshould regard the events of the night before as nothing more than a\nfantastic dream, and he was chuckling softly to himself over its\nmanifest absurdities, when all of a sudden he spied the lamp on the\ntable of his humble little room. He eyed it keenly for a few minutes,\nand then springing from the bed he seized it in his left hand and began\nrubbing it feverishly with his right. As had invariably happened before,\nthe genie responded on the instant.\n\n\"Your orders, your Highness,\" he said.\n\nAladdin scratched his head in sheer bewilderment, but, pulling himself\ntogether by a strong effort of will, he answered, somewhat haughtily:\n\n\"Send a maid to my mother's room immediately with instructions to\nreplenish her wardrobe at once with whatever things she may choose to\nask for, and you may yourself bring me my new frock coat, with the\nlavender trousers and the white pique vest. You may lay out my best\nshirred-front shirt and my mauve tie, and see that my silk socks match\nthe latter. I shall wear my patent-leather shoes this morning, and if my\nsilk hat shows any signs of wear, get me a new one.\"\n\n\"Yes, your Highness,\" said the blackamoor. \"And will your Grace\nbreakfast?\"\n\n\"Yes,\" said Aladdin. \"Have breakfast on the table in one hour from\nnow--fried eggs, buckwheat cakes, tenderloin steak, and a little salt\nfish. I desire, also, to have Major Bondifeller at breakfast with me,\nand, mind you, tell him not to keep me waiting.\"\n\n\"As your Highness wills,\" said the blackamoor, retiring.\n\nAladdin's orders were fulfilled to the letter, and after the breakfast\nwas over he summoned the genie with a considerable flourish, which\ndeeply impressed his guest.\n\n\"Now, Sambo,\" said he, \"I want you to take the limousine, go up to the\nSt. Gotham Hotel and inform the proprietor that Monsieur Le Duc di\nLumiere will arrive there, with his mother the Countess de Bougie, and\nsuite, precisely at noon, and desires the best accommodations the house\ncan provide. To inspire confidence you would better take a few diamond\nnecklaces with you and deposit them for safe-keeping at the office; and\nwhile you are about it, I'd like a couple of thousand dollars for\npocket-money.\"\n\nAs he gave these orders Aladdin scarcely dared look at the genie, for\nfear of rebellion, but they seemed to make no impression at all upon the\nblackamoor, who merely bowed his acquiescence and handed Aladdin a bag\nfull of gold pieces. As for the Major, who had passed a sleepless night,\nhe merely blinked amazedly at these astounding occurrences. Finally, he\nfound his voice. \"You are the Duc di Lumiere?\" he asked.\n\n\"At your service,\" said Aladdin.\n\n\"And may I ask what you are doing here in these squalid quarters?\"\ncontinued the old man.\n\n\"I am conducting a personal investigation into the lives of the\nunfortunate,\" replied Aladdin. \"By some extraordinary good chance the\nFates have thrown you, who are largely responsible for the awful\nconditions I find here, into my hands, with power to control your\nmovements. Within a radius of ten city blocks, Major Bondifeller, there\nare enough human souls living in squalid misery to populate a New\nEngland city, and yet you pay no more attention to them, nay, not as\nmuch, as you pay to a fly that enters your house and buzzes around your\npate. You give the fly some personal attention, but in this matter of\nyour tenements you do nothing whatsoever, leaving it to an agent to care\nfor your smaller interests. I believe those are your own words. Now,\nsir, it is in my power to keep you here for as long a time as I wish,\nbut I don't want to make a prisoner of you. I want to give you a chance\nto do something for your fellow-men, especially those who can never\nhope to repay you save in gratitude. You heard my views last night. I\nask nothing for myself, for, as you see, I do not need anything for\nmyself. I have but to order what I wish, and it is here.\"\n\n\"Your model tenements are a useless ideal,\" retorted Bondifeller. \"Only\nlast year, at enormous expense, I put bath-tubs in all my tenements, and\nmy agent reports that the tenants use them to store their coal in.\"\n\n\"And do you know why?\" demanded Aladdin.\n\n\"Ignorance, I presume,\" said Bondifeller, \"allied to a love of squalor.\"\n\n\"Nothing of the sort!\" retorted Aladdin, pounding the table with his\nfist. \"It is because you spent all your appropriation on bath-tubs and\nnever even thought of putting one penny into the construction of\ncoal-bins.\"\n\nBondifeller was silent. He had never thought of that before.\n\n\"Well,\" he said, ruefully, \"I suppose I must agree, but it will cost\ntwenty millions of dollars.\"\n\n\"What's twenty millions to a man who controls the United Mints of North\nAmerica?\" demanded Aladdin.\n\n\"But if you keep me here I shall not control the United Mints of North\nAmerica!\" shouted Bondifeller, pounding the table just a little on his\nown account. \"John W. Midas and Silas Reddymun have combined against me,\nand if I am not at the board meeting at ten o'clock this morning I am\ndown and out.\"\n\n\"Phew!\" whistled Aladdin. \"By Jove! Major, I'm glad you mentioned it in\ntime. It gives me an opportunity to show you just what this power of\nmine amounts to.\"\n\nHe rubbed the lamp and the genie appeared.\n\n\"I desire the immediate presence here of Colonel John W. Midas and Mr.\nSilas Reddymun, Sambo,\" said Aladdin.\n\n\"To hear is to obey,\" replied the slave, making off.\n\n\"You don't mean to say--\" gasped Bondifeller.\n\n\"Major Bondifeller,\" said Aladdin, \"I am not the saying kind. I am a\nplain, common garden doer. I admit that this time I am stretching things\na point, but you'll find my orders are obeyed.\"\n\nAs indeed they were, to the astonishment of all concerned, not even\nexcepting Aladdin himself, who trembled at the audacity of his last\ncommand. Within forty minutes the two gasping financiers whose presence\nhad been commanded sat before them. The genii had apparently taken them\njust as they found them, for Reddymun still wore his bath-robe and Midas\nwas in his shirt-sleeves, with only one side of his face shaved.\n\n[Illustration: \"WHAT DOES THIS MEAN?\" THEY DEMANDED]\n\n\"What the devil does this mean?\" they demanded, in scarcely varying\nterms.\n\n\"It means,\" said Aladdin, calmly, now very sure of himself--as he had\nevery right to be, considering the already successful manifestation\nof his powers--\"it means, gentlemen, that the United Mints of North\nAmerica have passed into the control of a dark horse, who is familiarly\nknown to himself as Aladdin, Duc di Lumiere, and that unless you\nmagnates get together inside of one hour and do something to clean up\nthe squalor and misery of this city as represented by these cesspools of\nhumanity termed the tenement districts, you will spend the balance of\nyour days in something worse. It is now twenty-seven minutes past eight.\nYou may go into executive session at half-past eight, and at half-past\nnine I shall be ready to escort you either to your board-room at the\noffice of the United Mints of North America, or to the dark but wholly\nsecure safe-deposit vaults that I have designed for your accommodation\nin the subterranean suburbs of this little burg.\"\n\nWith these words, Aladdin departed.\n\nAt noon that day Monsieur Le Duc di Lumiere, with his mother the\nCountess de Bougie, and suite, arrived at the St. Gotham Hotel.\n\n\"There is a telegram for your Grace,\" observed the proprietor, as he\nentered the royal salon. He handed over the little yellow envelope.\nAladdin tore it open hastily and read:\n\n     M. LE DUC DI LUMIERE, _Hotel St. Gotham_:\n\n     The Board of Directors of the United Mints of North America\n     have secured control of sixty blocks in the heart of the\n     tenement district of New York and will begin at once the\n     erection of thirty first-class model tenement houses,\n     costing two million apiece, each building fronting on all\n     four sides upon a complete city square to be devoted to\n     public parks for the people and playgrounds for the\n     children. Can you supply janitors? Answer, collect.\n\n  (Signed) SILAS REDDYMUN,\n  JOHN W. MIDAS,\n  RUFUS BONDIFELLER.\n\nA year later, while Aladdin and Mr. Bondifeller were returning from the\nopening ceremonies of the wonderful new tenements of lower New York in\nthe latter's motor, the aged financier gave his young friend's hand a\nquick and affectionate pressure.\n\n\"Duke,\" said he, his voice trembling with happiness, \"you have made me\nthe happiest man in the world. When I looked out upon the sea of faces\nof those tenants of our new houses, as you made your address, and saw\nthe look of hope in eyes that a year ago were filled with threatening\nand despair, it gave me such a thrill as I never had before. Is there\nanything else you can suggest wherein a man can use a few more millions\nfor the benefit of humanity?\"\n\n\"Yes,\" said Aladdin. \"Now that you have done something for the poor, a\nfew millions spent for the amelioration of the habits of the rich would\nbe a great boon.\"\n\n\"And how would you go about it?\" asked the old man.\n\n\"I don't know, Major,\" replied Aladdin. \"It is a much harder proposition\nthan the other.\"\n\n\"And meanwhile,\" said the old man, tremulously, \"how can I show my own\ngratitude to you personally for all you have done for me?\"\n\nAladdin looked across the car at the fair face of Marjorie Bondifeller,\nwhose lovely eyes fell as they caught his glance.\n\n\"Well,\" said Aladdin, blushing a rosy red, \"you might make me your son.\"\n\n\"Ah, my boy,\" sighed the Major, as he shook his head sadly, \"I am afraid\nthat is impossible. I don't think your mother would marry a\ncross-grained old curmudgeon like me. I've been a widower for so many\nyears now that I have become set in my ways, and--\"\n\n\"But there's another way round, ain't there?\" cried Aladdin.\n\nAnd there was, and that is how, my dear children, Marjorie Bondifeller\nhappened to become the Duchess di Lumiere.\n\n\n\n<pre id=\"pg-footer\">","title":"Jack and the Check Book","tradition":"folklore-oral-tradition","translated_text":null,"word_count":29307}