The William P. McGivern Fantasy MEGAPACK™: 25 Classic Fantasy Stories from the Pulps

First published in Fantastic Adventures, November 1941.

Chapter I

“Hi, everybody!”

With easy nonchalance, Albert Addin strolled casually through lounge of the Tennis and Topper Club, ignoring the fact that nobody bothered to answer his greeting. Finally, he paused before the grill of the mail desk. There, a frosty-eyed clerk gave him his morning mail and a look that clearly said:

“Why don’t you pay up your dues?” Undisturbed by this official coldness, Albert pocketed his mail and made his way back to the lounge where he sank into an overstuffed leather armchair. Comfortably entrenched against any sudden shock, young Mr. Addin turned his attention to opening his daily communications.

A nasty dun letter from his tailor made Albert wince a bit regretfully as he dropped it, half-read, into a wastebasket beside him. Another, and equally nasty, note from the gentlemen who had been silly enough to finance his sleek yellow roadster, comprised the contents of the second epistle he opened.

Albert shuddered slightly as he dropped the second letter into the deep-bellied ash tray beside his chair. The third letter caused him to frown. It was a brief and coldly legal notice from the bank, stating quite heartlessly that there would be no more annuity checks for another three months — due to the fact that he had overdrawn that far in advance.

His fourth communication was a telegram. Thoughtfully, Albert turned it over in his hands a bit before opening it, scarcely daring to hope that a rich uncle might have died somewhere. Then, deciding morosely that he didn’t have any relatives who’d be decent enough to help him out by dying, he sighed and opened the telegram.

Albert Addin read these lines and took a deep breath. Then he re-read them. No, there was no mistake. Incredible though it seemed, the telegram said what it said. The furrows of worry smoothed from his brow and a bland, almost beamish smile wreathed his features. A far-away, vacant glint of tenderness came into his gray eyes. This was from Margot. This was from the girl he loved, the girl he desired to marry, the girl whose father was worth, roughly, a million of the crinkly green stuff.

“Somehow, Margot has brought him around,” Albert told himself happily. “Somehow, she’s worked the old bear into a state where he’d actually be willing to consider his daughter marrying me!”

And then, reflectively, “And even Aunt Annabelle isn’t in an axe-swinging mood!”

Albert Addin felt like singing, but because of the rules of quiet established for the benefit of the patriarch members of the Tennis and Topper Club, he confined his joy to humming a strain from that classic “Beat Me Bertha With a Scrub Stick Sizzle Bar.”

For this looked like the omen of victory in his long battle for the hand of Margot Mastiff: A long and bloody battle which had been made almost impossible because of Margot’s father, Major Mastiff, and her acid-hearted Aunt Annabelle — both of whom heartily detested the very sight of Albert.

Once, almost a year ago, Albert reflected, he hadn’t been in disfavor with Margot’s relatives. That was when his courtship of the fair Margot had been in its primary stage. That was when he had been cordially invited to spend a weekend at Mastiff Manor.

Albert felt a deep twinge of remorse as he remembered that weekend, now. He had brought his candid camera along with him — the love he held for cameras amounted to a craze with Albert — and had made himself the hit of the weekend taking pictures of all the assembled guests. Major Mastiff had beamed into his lens, Aunt Annabelle had even consented to pose, and Albert had had a merry time dashing about and clicking his shutter.

Everything had been rosy, and his courtship had never looked more favorable. Albert left Mastiff Manor that Sunday with high hopes of an early marriage. But then his plans hit a sudden snag.

Albert developed the pictures he’d taken. The developed prints showed all too clearly that Albert Addin was a rotten photographer. The shots of the guests were fuzzy, odd-shaped, monstrous, and accidentally screamingly funny. Albert determined to burn them, to make up some plausable excuse for not shooting the prints along to the guests.

But before Albert was able to burn them, they were seen, and howled at, by a friend of his who had dropped in for a drink. The friend was the editor of that nasty little picture magazine, Gaze. It seemed that the editor of Gaze wanted to publish the pictures in his humor section. It seemed that Albert was — as usual — broke. It also seemed that the offer made by Albert’s pal editor for the pictures was tempting — too tempting for the pecunious Albert to resist.

The snapshots appeared in Gaze.

The nation laughed uproariously. Major Mastiff had a stroke. Margot was almost prompted to give Albert the gate. Aunt Annabelle tried to bring suit against the “sniveling young upstart.” Albert was banned from Mastiff Manor, and from that day forward was forced to conduct his courtship of Margot on the sly.

Until now.

“A master diplomat, Margot,” Albert sighed happily. “A veritable genius at pouring oil on troubled waters!” And then he shook his head in admiration at the tremendous bit of soothing-over which his fiancée had accomplished since his banishment.

Albert felt warm inside, and very happy indeed. He could even gaze down at the crumpled dun letters in the wastebasket beside him and beam cheerfully. For bills were no longer of any consequence, now that his courtship troubles were straightened out. For after all, the girl he was soon to marry had a filthy-rich father, didn’t she?

So Albert rose happily, making his way across the lounge to the elevators, conscious that he had never loved Margot Mastiff more than at this moment. As the elevator took him up to his rooms, he broke forth into a light rendition of the second verse of “Mamma Your High-Falutin’ Baby’s Gone to Texas on a Jive Bar for a Break Bath.”

His bags were on the bed and almost packed, half an hour later, for Albert wasn’t going to waste any time in catching the swiftest train for Mastiff Manor. Glancing swiftly at his watch, Albert closed his bags and reached for his hat and coat. Then, for an instant, he hesitated, his glance going to his bathroom door a few steps away.

“Damn, I almost forgot,” Albert said snapping his fingers. Then he stepped swiftly over to the bathroom door and opened it very, very carefully so that too much light wouldn’t stream into its darkened interior. The management of the Tennis and Topper Club, not to mention that worthy organization’s board of directors, would have been extremely shocked — not to mention angered — to know that young Albert Addin had turned the luxurious sunken bathroom of his suite into a photographic darkroom!

And now, with the door closed safely behind him, Albert turned on the faint light in his combination bathroom-darkroom, and gazed lovingly down into the washbowl at the photographic prints he’d left soaking. The photography bug in Albert had been too strong to allow him to pop off for a weekend while developing fluid ate away the artistry he’d caught in his latest camera efforts.

There were some special shots he’d taken — still life — of tables and oranges and bowls in his rooms, and now Albert was eagerly curious to see how they’d turned out. He’d been using a new technique picked up in a photography guide — infra red film filtering on still life shots.

Tenderly, Albert removed the prints from the fluid. Lovingly, he peered at them. Delightedly, he whistled. They weren’t bad at all, which, for Albert, was a major triumph in camera lore.

“This shot of the apple on the table beside the couch is rather fine,” he told himself exultantly. “Salon stuff, that’s what it is!”

“Yes, indeed,” Albert continued aloud, gazing at the print, “it’s a duezzy, it’s—”

Suddenly a frown broke out on Albert’s face.

Something was screwy, definitely.

For, beside the apple on the table there was something else!

“Why,” Albert gasped in astonishment, “that’s an ancient oriental lamp, there!” He pursed his lips in bewilderment, for he was certain that when he’d photographed the apple there hadn’t been any lamp on the table. The table had been bare but for the apple. He’d been shooting “simple, artistic” stuff, not cluttered tables!

As Albert looked again, the lamp was still there in the print. Rubbing his finger across it didn’t make it go away. He frowned, and still carrying the print, stepped swiftly out of his bathroom laboratory. Albert stepped across his bedroom and into his drawing room. There, in the corner, was the table. Beside it was the couch.

The table was the one he’d used in the shot. As a matter of fact, the apple was still on the table — with a piece bitten out of it — just as he’d left it the night before. Just as he’d left it after finishing his photographic efforts.

But there was no lamp there, and the realization of this seemed to reassure Albert. After all, if he’d photographed a lamp he would have been aware of it wouldn’t he?

“Of course I would,” Albert declared. “I most certainly would have been aware of a lamp, if one had been there!”

But when he looked quickly at the print in his hand, Albert was again shaken. There was a lamp, directly beside the apple on the table! But another glance at the actual table showed that there couldn’t be.

“We’ll see about this,” Albert muttered resolutely stepping over to the table.

Albert put his hand down on the table, moving it slowly along the smooth wood surface. Then, suddenly, his hand stopped, sweat broke out on his forehead, and he gulped. Something was there beside the apple!

Something that he could feel, but couldn’t see!

Carefully Albert allowed his hand to caress the object. It was rather small, pitcher shaped, metallic. Albert gulped again, and sweat broke out anew.

“And I haven’t had a drop,” Albert muttered. “Not a drop in three days!”

Gingerly, Albert lifted the invisible something-or-other, his hand trembling badly. Frantically, he strained his eyes, as if the very effort of their peering would bring this invisible thing-ama-jig into view.

And then, quite suddenly, as his hand trembled more than before, the invisible what zit slipped from his clammy fingers, thudding onto the floor.

Instinctively, Albert’s eyes followed the invisible drop. And at the instant his ears heard the “thunk” of the object hitting the floor, Albert’s eyes widened in startled incredulity. The thing was now visible![1]

It was as if the jar had shaken off its cloak of invisibility. And Albert, pop-eyed in astonishment, gazed down at the same oriental lamp that was seen on the print he held in his trembling hand!

“Presto,” Albert gasped. “First I didn’t see it, now I do!”

Handling the lamp carefully, Albert turned it over in a sort of stupefied curiosity. His mind was frantically trying to change gears, to adjust itself to the realization that here was an object which a moment before hadn’t been visible for the naked eye to view. An object which he had unwittingly photographed, even though he hadn’t been able to see it at the time.

Albert shook his head. An oriental lamp whose properties of remaining unseen had been destroyed by its fall to the floor. But the camera had seen it, even though he himself hadn’t. Suddenly the furrows in Albert’s brows lessened somewhat, and he almost grinned triumphantly at what he considered to be a swiftly arrived at solution.

“The infra-red film filter I had on the camera,” he said aloud. “That’s what did it!” Hazily, he had a mental vision of infra-red cutting through invisible cloaks like a classroom diagram. It was simple. The special filter, about which Albert knew absolutely nothing, had revealed an invisible object, about which he knew absolutely nothing. The two things had much in common, in that he knew nothing about either of them. Q.E.D. The infra-red film had penetrated the invisibility of the oriental lamp, and when the lamp fell to the floor, the shock had destroyed its invisibility.

The shock was gone, now, and Albert was left with only a vast pride at the clever way in which he had arrived at the nub of mystery.

“Pip, pip,” he told himself. “Took a bit of clever thinking, eh wot?”

And suddenly, as he looked again at the lamp in his hand, Albert was struck by another staggeringly clever thought.

“This lamp,” he declared brightly to the silence, “will make a tremendous hit with Margot’s Aunt Annabelle. If I remember correctly, she collects old junk along this line.”

So saying, Albert returned to the bedroom, stuffed the lamp into one of his bags, and turned to get his hat and coat. If there was any question in the back of his brain as to the origin of the lamp, or as to why it had been invisible, he wasn’t concerned with such small matters at the moment. The thing had been invisible, now it wasn’t. Aunt Annabelle would be delighted with it, and — besides, he’d have to hurry to catch his train.

Chapter II Albert Has a Visitor

Margot Mastiff, looking blond, demure, and lovely in the white tennis costume she was wearing, met Albert at the railroad station of the little village several miles from Mastiff Manor.

They were jouncing along in the station wagon which Margot piloted with much daring and little skill, some twenty minutes later. Having made his greetings, congratulated his loved one on her finesse in smoothing the troubled waters, and commented on the weather, Albert was now sitting back smoking a cigarette and watching the outlines of Mastiff Manor rise in the distance.

“Got a present for your Aunt Annabelle,” Albert said in a sudden surge of recollection, as Margot narrowly missed running down a chicken which had tried to cross the dusty country road. “A little antique, a mere bauble, which I’m certain she’ll go for.”

“Oh, Albert, that’s marvelous!” Margot turned to give him a glance of breathless admiration, almost running the car off the road. “She’ll be so pleased.”

“Don’t doubt it, old girl. But can’t you watch where we’re going a little more closely?” Albert was about to launch into a recounting of the mysterious circumstances under which he gained possession of the oriental oddity, but gave up the idea on the realization that the tale might end up with Margot’s driving them into a ditch. Time enough for that later. Besides, the tale would make fine conversational fodder at the dinner table.

Then they were turning up the long drive leading into the estate of Mastiff Manor. The Manor was exactly as Albert remembered it. Huge, rambling, stone, a wing here and a wing there. The place was bedded in a vast sward of green lawn, and the lawn was spotted with tall, shade-giving oak trees. The largest of these trees, a gigantic one just off the porch and closest to the Manor, Albert remembered as being Major Mastiff’s favorite shade spot.

“Ahhh,” Albert breathed deep of the keen country air. “The old Mastiff Oak, eh? Brings back recollections.”

Yes,” Margot nodded pleasantly, narrowly missing a hedge on the side of the gravel drive. “Father will probably be out there sitting under it, waiting for us. He’s had a stone bench built beneath it since the last time you were here.”

Major Mastiff was, indeed, sitting on the stone bench beneath the Mastiff Oak, holding a tall, cool glass in his hand and waiting for them after they’d parked the station wagon.

Like the Mastiff Oak, Major Mastiff hadn’t changed perceptibly since the last time Albert had seen him. Like the oak, he might have been a little bit more gnarled around the trunk, but otherwise he seemed the same. His blue eyes, hiding behind triplet pouches, were just as cold, just as blue, just as frostily appraising as they had been before. His white hair and well-trimmed white moustache still gave him an air of dignified, iron-fisted authority. Even the fact that he possessed a vast middle and waddled slightly as he rose to meet them, didn’t detract from patrician austerity of Major Mastiff’s appearance.

Albert extended his hand and smiled cheerfully, unable to still the pounding of his heart. He could never face the major without feeling that he was being examined by a Star Chamber tyrant.

“Hah,” Major Mastiff said unyieldingly, ignoring young Addin’s hand. “Hah, I see you’re here, Addin!”

Albert gulped.

“Yes, arrived pronto, eh wot? Deuced nice of you to ask me up, Major. Especially after—”

Albert was about to say, “after what happened,” but a nasty kick on the side of his shin from Margot warned him that there was no sense in probing old wounds. So he reddened uncomfortably and finished lamely, “Deuced nice and all that!”

Major Mastiff, after nodding and muttering something about persons with limited vocabularies, returned to his stone bench under the shade tree with the attitude of a man who has completed an unpleasant duty. Margot’s tug on Albert’s arm told him that the first encounter was at an end.

“Father’s still a little touchy about you, Albert,” Margot explained as they entered Mastiff Manor. “But you’ll win him over completely before you leave. I’m sure you will.”

Albert gulped.

“I can try, pet. I can only try.”

They had paused in the center of the hallway of the Manor, and were immediately conscious of a shrill voice coming from atop a staircase to their left.

“Margot, Margot?”

Albert’s recollection of Aunt Annabelle’s buzz-saw tones gave him a sudden additional uncomfortable twinge, and unconsciously he braced himself.

“Yes Aunt Annabelle?” Margot trilled in reply.

“Have you been to the station to pick up that, that, that, pusillanimous pup yet?” Aunt Annabelle’s voice came down.

“Aunt Annabelle!” Margot said sharply, face reddening. “Albert is here. He’s with me now.”

“Oh,” Aunt Annabelle’s voice floated back. There was no confusion or apology in her tone. Just the grim satisfaction of one who has made her position clear.

“He’s brought you something that you’ll like especially well, Aunt Annabelle,” Margot said quickly.

“Bring it up!”

“His bags aren’t unpacked yet, Aunt Annabelle. He’ll give it to you at luncheon,” Margot said, after Albert whispered to her, pointing to his still unpacked luggage.

Albert gulped deeply, running his finger beneath his now moist collar band. All told, his reception wasn’t quite what he had expected it to be. However, old Major Mastiff hadn’t turned an elephant gun on him as yet, and Aunt Annabelle didn’t quite pour boiling oil down the staircase to greet his arrival. There was still life, so obviously there was room for hope.

Albert turned a wan face toward Margot.

“Heh,” he observed, “they both seem to be a little frigid.”

Margot beamed.

“Don’t worry about Aunt Annabelle, darling. Once she has her hands on your present, she’ll thaw out completely.” Then, reverting to her role of hostess, Margot said: “It’s eleven o’clock, now, and we’ll be lunching pretty shortly. You’d better get up to your room so you’ll have time to wash and unpack.”

“Righto, pet. We’ll take to the battle as soon as I’m shipshape,” Albert answered, planting an affectionate and somewhat damp kiss on her cheek. But as he trudged up the staircase toward the room Margot had told him he was to occupy, Albert Addin felt anything but jaunty. There was a queasy sensation in the pit of his stomach. A sensation caused not so much by the hostile attitude of Margot’s kin, as by a peculiar premonition that hung over him like a gloomy pall. He couldn’t explain this premonition to himself. The best he could do was endure it.

Albert Addin had unpacked, changed his travelworn attire, and shaved by the time he got around to bringing forth Aunt Annabelle’s gift from the grip in which he’d carried it. Now, gazing at it admiringly as he sat on the edge of the bed, Albert saw that it would make an even more delightful present to the old girl than he had first imagined.

Mentally, he patted himself on the back for having gotten the inspiration to bring it here. As a curio, Albert sensed, it was definitely something to look at. The scroll worked around the base of the lamp obviously bore ancient Arabian script.

Albert had seen pictures of these old lamps, but never the real McCoy. Consequently, he spent considerable time just sitting there, turning it over in his hands, and examining it. Vaguely, in the back of his brain, he was beginning to arrive at an explanation for its presence on the table in his suite at the Topper and Tennis Club. He recalled that a visiting East Indian rug salesman of no little wealth had occupied his suite before he moved in. Undoubtedly, the rug salesman had left it behind, although Albert could think of no reason for his doing so.

“Possibly,” Albert mused, “he forgot to pack it when he left because it was invisible.”

That seemed like a logical enough reason to Albert’s extremely adaptable mind, so he let it go at that, continuing his study of the lamp. It was then that he noticed a slight scratch and a tiny smudge on the metallic surface of the curiosity. These flaws were obviously the result of Albert’s having dropped it while it was still invisible.

Considering that it wouldn’t be right not to give it to Aunt Annabelle looking — so to speak — at its best, Albert’s hand automatically reached into his pocket and pulled forth a handkerchief. Wetting the handkerchief slightly with the tip of his tongue, Albert applied a little elbow grease, a bit of deft polishing, to the tainted spots on the surface.

And precisely five seconds later, the room seemed to explode in one vast blinding splash of lightning!

Albert’s next awareness came as he looked dazedly around the bedroom from the position on the floor to which he had been hurled. His ears were ringing wildly, and the lamp was no longer in his grasp. Someone was helping him to his feet.

“Didn’t hurtcha none, did I? a voice was saying. “I ain’t in practice on my entrances, but I’ll get back in form on ’em pretty quick.”

Albert looked up dazedly into the face of the speaker, into the face of the creature who was helping him to his feet. He saw, foggily, a huge, towering, hulking monstrosity of a man — a creature clad in what appeared to be the remnants of filthy, silken, yellow bedcovers. And as Albert gulped, too stunned to be amazed, he shook his head desperately to clear it of the faint pinwheels which were yet cluttering up his vision.

His eyes could focus, now the creature stepped back, giving Albert his first full view of him. And now Albert let out his first yelp of surprise.

The creature had an earnest, if somewhat vacant, face, his nose mashed like that of a pug who hadn’t ducked soon or often enough. Albert suspected that the fellow’s ears, which were hidden now beneath an incredible ragged and dirty turban, were probably cauliflowers. His arms were long, almost apelike, and his fingers dangled from his great hands like big bunches of bananas.

“Huuuullo,” the monstrosity said, his voice having all the musical qualities of falling hardware.

Albert Addin took a deep breath. “Who,” he managed to say at last, “are you?”

The creature scratched his head. “George,” he answered a bit sheepishly. “My name is George, and I yam a genie.” He smiled, then, in a friendly, though somewhat punchdrunk manner.

“George, a genie!” Albert was incredulously indignant. “Don’t get wise, my man. Don’t pull that stuff around here. Think you can come into people’s rooms, bopping them on the back of the head and stealing valuable antiques, and get away with it all by the casual explanation that you’re a genie? Oh no you don’t. Albert Addin isn’t a sucker. Never has been. Come clean, now, who in the devil are you, and what do you mean by coming bed-sheeted into my room this way?”

The big fellow squirmed uncomfortably, and the trickle of a large tear started in the corner of one eye. “I yam what I yam. I can’t help it none if I’m a genie, can I? And besides, yuh called me, didn’cha?”

The big fellow’s attitude made it instantly apparent to Albert’s shaken senses that, come what may, he could be talked out of any mayhem if handled with enough firmness.

“Don’t slobber,” Albert said, summoning all the brisk authority he could command. “I can’t stand slobbering criminals!”

“But I yain’t a criminal,” George’s husky voice was pleading. He shuffled his big feet frightenedly. “I yam just a genie, trying to do what I yam tolt tuh do. Yuh called me, an’here I yam!”

Albert Addin suddenly spied the oriental lamp lying over in a corner of the bedroom where, evidently, the explosion had knocked it. Suddenly a horrible premonition assailed him and sweat broke out on his brow.

Genie.

Genie. Lamp. The genie of the lamp. There was a lamp, and this hulk claimed to be a genie!

Albert had read the Arabian Nights.

But, no. Such things were impossible. This was an age of civili — Suddenly Albert recalled the fact that this lamp had been invisible when he’d first found it. He hadn’t considered that impossible. But, of course, he hadn’t considered invisibility impossible because the damned thing had been invisible, and that was that. Albert realized that his bewildered brain was chasing itself around in circles. He tried to get a grip on himself.

“Look now,” he said determinedly. “You say you’re a genie. Okay, then, prove it!”

Albert felt a surge of inner triumph as he saw the effect this demand had upon the creature who called himself George. The hulking fellow’s features creased in a look of infinitely insulted reproach. His brows knotted. He appeared stumped by the question. He looked like a police dog who had just been asked to show his badge.

“Huh?” George managed.

“I said prove it,” Albert repeated triumphantly. “Prove that you’re a genie!”

“I yam, that’s all,” George declared with desperate intensity. “I yam a genie!”

“Prove it,” Albert repeated his demand.

“What’ll I do?” George muttered doggedly. “I yam a genie. Gimme somethin’ what I should do fer yuh.”

Albert’s smile of triumph was almost satanical.

“Go jump in the lake,” he sneered.

There was a sudden “pop”, like the white splash of a flash bulb, and the gargantuan George was gone into thin air! Another “pop”, before Albert could catch his startled breath, and George stood once more before him in the bedroom — sopping wet, drenched to the skin!

Albert blinked.

“Wha—” he began.

“I jumped,” George explained. “Brrrrrr,” he shook his soaked robes like a huge dog, “the lake’s cold, and wet!”

Albert looked dazedly at the puddles around George’s great feet. He blinked, looking up at George, struggling futilely for words.

“I kin do anything,” George announced with shy pride, “anything at all.”

Albert Addin was the sort of person who could harbor strong suspicions, nourish dogged doubts. But when you put the evidence before him he believed, instantly and without quibbling.

This was the case now. Albert was thunderstruck, but Albert believed. Implicitly. He had asked to be shown. He had been. Q.E.D.

“So you are a genie,” Albert said at last. “Well I never—”

Albert left the sentence unfinished, while the cogs in his mental adaptation machine whirled frantically into gear to meet this new state of affairs. Albert would have an unearthly fear over the possibility that things like ghosts, or genies, existed. Like many people, it was the unknown that terrified him. But confronted with something that he knew to be true, Albert Addin was made of sterner stuff. He faced facts, met issues. Now he was doing both.

“So you’re a genie,” Albert said with some degree of calm. “Well, that’s nice and all that, old boy. But really, I’m afraid you’ll have to toddle along, go back to where you came from. There’s no use for you here, old man. Can’t use you, sorry.” He made his voice crisp, authoritative, and even waved his hand vaguely to round out his comments.

“But yuh called!” George, the genie, had a desperate, pleading note in his voice. There was a look in his bovine eyes that tore at the very fiber of Albert’s heartstrings. “Yuh rubbed the lamp,” the genie was going on, “didn’ cha?” He gulped. “Yuh can’t call a guy fer a job, and then tell him there ain’t none. Not after he ain’t had no work in over a thousand years, yuh can’t!” In spite of himself, Albert felt like a man who has just slapped an orphan across its round little face.

“Over a thousand years?” he said incredulously. “Does Madame Perkins know about this?”

George, the genie, had tears in his eyes. His voice was a pleading croak. He’d removed his turban and was worrying it with his great paws, occasionally using it to dab at the corners of his moist eyes.

“Over a thousand years,” he repeated. “Times has been tough, all over. Yuh ain’t gonna send me back now, are yuh? Yuh wouldn’t thrun me outta the foist job I get in over a thousand years, would yuh?”

Somewhere within the narrow confines of Albert Addin’s breast, there was a warm and kindly heart. And now it was touched by a swift, wrenching surge of pity. He tried to make his expression a little bit more kindly, tried to think of something which he could say to soften the blow of the hulking monster.

But George, the genie, was continuing desperately, apparently aware that his new-found employer wanted none of him.

“Please, I kin do anything. Anything at all. Jest try me. Yuh seen how quick like I jumped into the lake, didn’cha? There ain’t nothing hardly I can’t do!”

Albert, feeling like a stern but kindly padre in a Spanish Mission movie, shook his head slowly.

“No. Sorry, old boy. Might think of you in the future. If you’ll just fill out a blank and leave your name with the girl at the desk, I’ll call you when anything comes up.”

“Girl? Desk?” George was puzzled. “A, figure of speech,” Albert informed him.

“I kin getcha any number of girls yuh might want,” George said in sudden inspiration.

“No thanks,” Albert was firm. “I have one.”

“How about palaces?” George suggested hopefully. “Yuh want I should make yuh a palace? I kin make foist rate palaces!”

Albert shook his head again. “There’s nothing you can do for me, old man — as much as I’d like to help you out.”

“Jools?” George inquired earnestly. “I kin getcha all sortsa jools. Roooopies, dimunds, hatfullsa jools. Assorted sulectshums, if yuh like ’em better dat way!”

Albert wavered. Not at the declaration of power on George’s part, but because of the infinite look of dog-like pleading in his bovine eyes.

“Frankly,” George babbled on, “I need the woik. I got refrunces, too!”

Albert shook his head, then, with a start, looked at his watch. If was almost noon. He’d be late for luncheon if this lumbering lunkhead didn’t remove himself pretty quickly. And suddenly, for the first time, Albert realized what a problem George would present if he were discovered by any of the Mastiffs or their servants!

“Look,” Albert said, less kind, now and more anxious. “Why don’t you call again some time. I’m in a hurry. I’ve an appointment.” Albert’s brow was suddenly moist with the perspiration of worry.

“Yuh can’t walk out without yuh should look at my refrunces,” George pleaded desperately. He was digging deeply into his filthy bedsheeted, yellow robes, and now his paw came forth clutching some yellowed parchments. He handed these over to Albert. “See, refrunces, past guys what employed me, and for what I worked good.”

Automatically, and against his better judgment, Albert found himself accepting the yellowed parchments. They were obviously ancient, and in a dirty state of near decay. But the fine script on them was still legible. His eyes popped open wide as he peered at the script.

“Why,” said Albert amazedly, “I can read this script. It’s written in English!”

“Yeah,” George nodded matter-of-factly. “It was writ by a magician who I last woiked for. He writ it in lang-witch which is plain no matter what langwitch yuh speaks. Like my talk. Anybody understands it.”

“I haven’t time,” said Albert as the shock left him somewhat. “You tell me what these references say and then please vanish, or something. I’m going to be late for luncheon, and I can’t have you around!” Albert himself was growing a little desperate now.

George looked suddenly sheepish.

“I can’t read so good,” he admitted, reddening. “I never learnt. Always too busy.”

“You mean,” Albert was more amazed by this than by anything that had occurred so far, “you mean you’re a genie and you can’t read?”

George nodded.

“Me mudder made me get out an’ woik when I was young. I never got no educashun.”

Albert glanced swiftly at the ancient script, the ancient script that read as modernly as a letter from one of his creditors.

There was a new look in Albert’s eye as he turned from the letter to George, who stood watching him with a proudly sluggy smile, a look of a growing apprehension, the approaching desperation of fear.

“You say you can’t read,” Albert muttered. “And this note makes it obvious.” He handed the parchment back to George, who replaced it tenderly beneath his filthy robes.

“There’d be only one thing I need badly,” Albert mused. “That would be money, since I’m somewhat short now. However, that isn’t up your alley.

The best favor you could do me,” he went on, voice louder, “is to beat it, vanish, scram, like a nice fellow.”

Albert’s voice was pleading in its last notes, coaxing. “I’ve got enough to straighten out, without you around. Now won’t you go away, like a good fellow, for good?”

George suddenly stopped looking worried, snapped his fingers as if recalling something.

“I’ll betcha yuh don’t know it,” he said exultantly.

“Know what?” Albert frowned.

“The command what makes me go away fer good, instead of on errands fer yuh,” George said, now completely happy. “I’ll betcha don’t know it!”

“What is it?” Albert felt horribly like a man upon whom a trap has fallen. “What’s the command?”

George grew coy.

“I don’t know, honest.” He gulped. “But I’m glad I don’t know, ’cause now I kin woik fer yuh, huh?”

“Oh Lord,” Albert groaned, knees suddenly weak.

There was a “pop” like the white flash of a photo bulb exploding. George was suddenly gone. Another “pop” and George was back. Albert blinked bewilderedly, frightenedly.

“Here, whatcha wanted. What I overheard yuh mention,” George said ingratiatingly. And Albert was astonished to see a handful of green currency in the genie’s paw!

Albert gulped. Money was money. Suddenly he felt that perhaps this wasn’t going to be quite so bad, that perhaps George would not be able to cause too much damage by staying around a bit. He took the bills.

“Well,” Albert muttered indecisively, “this makes things a bit different. Thanks, old man, I was a bit short. Maybe you don’t have to leave right away.” Then, looking at his watch, he suddenly wheeled. “Almost late for luncheon,” he gasped. “Have to hurry. Try to be of some use around here while I’m gone. Get some wood for the fireplace. Be sort of a handy man, will you? We’ll talk things over when I come back. But mind you, don’t go running loose around here!”

Then, turning, Albert hastily stepped out of the room. Once again his mental adjustment gears were stripping themselves to mesh in with this new light in which he now viewed George, the genie. And, as usual, the adaptation was working with brisk smoothness.

It was just as well for Albert’s new state of mind in regard to George, that he didn’t see the hulking genie turn and gaze thoughtfully around the room after the door closed. For George’s gaze was fixed most strongly on the barren fireplace and the empty wood box beside it.

Chapter III George Goes to Work

It was with mingled feelings that Albert Addin entered the oak-ceilinged dining room of Mastiff Manor. He was still pondering the amazing antics of George, the genie, who had popped into his existence so unceremoniously. His common sense bade him to accept such blessings without quibbling as to their source, but something else, possibly a sixth sense, seemed to be trying to warn him of impending disaster. If that scroll were right — With a shrug of his well-tailored shoulders, he dismissed the matter altogether. Which was thoroughly typical. When anything bothered him to the extent that it made him think there was only one result, it was consigned to oblivion.

He slid into a chair to the right of Major Mastiff, conscious that he was late for luncheon by several minutes. The major was breathing heavily, which Albert knew, was a very bad sign.

“Terribly sorry,” Albert apologized charmingly, “but I lost all track of time while I was looking out the window at your beautiful estate. It’s absolutely remarkable, Major, the way you keep it up. Absolutely remarkable.”

The major sniffed, somewhat mollified, and Albert smiled happily at Margot. She smiled back, warmly and admiringly.

Aunt Annabelle cleared her throat decisively. Her long face was set sternly and her uncompromising eyes regarded him suspiciously.

“You spoke of a present,” she said in an unpleasantly business-like voice, “did you forget that too in your contemptation of nature’s wonders?” Albert swallowed suddenly. Hang it, he was in the soup now. He had utterly failed to realize that he simply couldn’t give Aunt Annabelle the lamp now. Something deeper than instinct told him that Aunt Annabelle and George would not get along.

“Ha, ha,” he laughed weakly, “joking, always joking, aren’t you, Auntie, old bean?”

Aunt Annabelle set her lips in distaste. “Don’t call me that,” she said frigidly, “and I wasn’t joking. I never joke.”

“That’s right,” Albert stalled desperately for time, “you don’t. Just the other day we were talking about jokes down at the club and I said that in my opinion you—”

“About the present,” Aunt Annabelle interrupted quietly but firmly, “you were saying?”

“Well you see,” Albert struggled on manfully, “I–I knew how you liked surprises so I–I decided to wait until this evening and, and really surprise you.”

“I detest surprises,” Aunt Annabelle said grimly.

“You’ll love this one, though,” Albert almost choked with the desperate heartiness he put into his voice.

Aunt Annabelle attacked her cutlet savagely and did not bother to reply. It was obvious, Albert thought gloomily, that the old girl still cherished her violent prejudice toward him.

Except for this, the first part of the meal rambled along smoothly enough. Albert was beginning to breathe easily by the time the lemon pudding was served, but before he could sink a spoon into the dessert, there was a loud cry from the hall, and the next instant a red-faced, overalled figure burst into the dining room.

Albert recognized him as Jeakes, the gardener, a quaint, highly-tempered old gentleman.

Jeakes puffed furiously for an instant, and then strode to Major Mastiff’s chair. His small blue eyes were protruding like marbles and his face was stained a dull vermillion from the top of his collar to the roots of his white hair.

“I queet,” he shouted suddenly, “I queet. I am through. Finished for good. Geeve me my money and I leave. I work here no more. “Ze new gardener he ees—”

“Now, now Jeakes,” Major Mastiff interrupted testily, “what’s the meaning of this? What’s all this nonsense about a new gardner?”

“Ze new gardener,” Jeakes cried in a shrill voice, “he is here already. I hope you are satisfied. Ze beeg baboon has destroyed ze Mastiff Oak. You hear? He has cut down the Mastiff Oak. I queet. I am through. Zat tree she ees like a baby to me and now she is gone.”

Major Mastiff’s face had drained of all color as Jeakes spoke. His large puffy body began to quiver.

“Jeakes,” he cried hoarsely, “y — you’ve been drinking. You must be. The Mastiff Oak it — it—” Major Mastiff’s voice trailed away to an inaudible whisper. His breath came faster as he rose unsteadily from his chair. He turned, almost automatically, and moved heavily toward the door.

“I’ll see,” he muttered, “I’ll see.” Albert winced. He knew the danger signals. He could tell from the angry red that circled the major’s neck that the great-grand-daddy of all Mastiff temper storms was brewing.

But Albert knew that his skirts were clear. He knew that he would not be the victim of the latest Mastiff upheaval, so he relaxed comfortably, almost happy in the realization that some other poor chump was in for it this time. There were few things dearer to the major’s rock-like heart than his beautiful shade tree, Mastiff Oak. If someone had been idiotic enough to have it chopped down, that someone would regard being boiled in oil as a light penance after the major got through with him.

Albert’s pleasant musings were disrupted by the sounds of a commotion outside the dining room door. He heard the major’s voice raised in stormy wrath, and the next instant he strode back into the room, dragging behind him a sulky lumbering figure, dressed in yellow silk and carrying a large business-like axe in his hands.

Albert’s eyes popped open, and his stomach turned a slow nauseating flip-flop. For the figure with the major was George, the genie!

The major churned across the rug like a battleship and stopped in front of Albert. A finger the size of a banana shot out and wagged in front of the Addin nose.

“As usual,” the major said in a hoarse, strangled voice, “I find myself coming to you for explanations when something ghastly and unnatural occurs. This man,” the major paused to glare at George, “says he is your gen — jin — I guess he means your vale t.” The major’s cheeks were the color of ripe beets now and his voice had sunk to a hissing whisper. “Answer me Addin, is this — this creature your valet?”

Albert swallowed nervously.

“You might say he is,” he said weakly.

The major mopped his brow and struggled for composure.

“I am glad to know that,” he said at last, “I am glad to know that he is your valet. For I want you to answer a little question for me, Mr. Addin. That is,” the major was icily polite, “if you don’t mind.”

Albert liked none of this. The major was breathing like a runaway locomotive, and his frosty blue eyes were glaring at him as if he were something that had been caught crawling from the woodwork.

“You don’t mind, do you?” The major’s voice was rising in pitch and volume.

Albert looked at George. George was shifting from one big foot to the other in obvious embarrassment and misery. Aunt Annabelle, Albert was aware, was taking in the scene in undisguised satisfaction. Margot was staring miserably at her plate and wringing the napkin she held in her hands. Albert’s gaze came unwillingly back to Major Mastiff. He attempted an ingratiating smile.

“Ha, ha,” he laughed unconvincingly, “do I get twenty silver dollars if I answer it correctly?”

The major’s cheeks swelled up into miniature balloons.

“Tell me,” he bellowed suddenly and wildly, “why your valet chopped down Mastiff Oak?”

The words bounced and echoed from the oaken rafters to the solid pine floor like the sound of doomsday itself. Albert’s heart would have popped out his mouth had he not clamped his teeth together. He stared in horror from the major to George and in George’s eyes he saw — guilt. So that was it! George had chopped down the tree and the major naturally thought that he, Albert, was responsible for it. Albert breathed easier. A simple explanation, brisk and to the point, and the whole thing would be cleared up.

“Major Mastiff,” he began formally, “I—”

He stopped as he saw George tugging at the sleeve of the major’s coat. The major wheeled.

“In Heaven’s name,” he bellowed, “what do you want, you gibbering halfwit?”

“He told me to do it,” George pointed at Albert, “he told me that he wanted some kindling.”

“Oh he did!” The major’s voice was like a condor’s scream. He turned to Albert, breathing through his nose. “I should have known better,” he cried hoarsely, “I invited you here against my better judgment. You are an irresponsible, unreliable, thoroughly incompetent moron. You have descended from a long line of the same. You are a destructive, brainless spendthrift. You are—”

“But, Major,” Albert interrupted desperately. He knew the cards were stacked against him but he had to make some case for himself. George had utterly and hopelessly betrayed him. He had mentioned something about kindling, but not a word had passed the Addin lips to the effect that forest heirlooms were to be destroyed to accomplish the purpose.

“If you are not off the grounds by five o’clock,” the major cried wrathfully, “I’ll set the dogs on you. If I ever see you in my daughter’s company again I’ll hunt you down with my elephant gun and blow you into six-hundred pieces. I’ve bad enough. In the future, if you speak to me or my family, you do it at your own risk. Do I make myself clear?”

“By reading between the lines,” Albert said morosely, “I get what you’re hinting at. You don’t really want my autograph then?”

With an anguished bleat, Major Mastiff wheeled and staggered blindly from the room. George, Albert noticed grimly, had disappeared too.

Aunt Annabelle rose from the table with stiff dignity and, with a frigid, disapproving glance in Albert’s direction, retired from the room. Margot remained at the table, crying softly into her handkerchief.

Albert sat down beside her.

“That does it,” he sighed ruefully, “I haven’t learned the knack yet of creeping into the old boy’s heart. I’d better start to pack.” He looked tenderly at Margot’s elfin profile and patted her softly on the shoulder.

“For old time’s sake,” he said fervently, “will you be a good girl and slip the shells from the old boy’s elephant gun?”

Margot stopped sniffing and looked at him, determination in her eye.

“You’re not going to pack,” she said firmly “just go to your room and wait. I’m going to have a try at softening father up.”

“How do you go about it?” Albert asked with professional interest. “Do you use something hard like a baseball bat or does something blunt and dull do the trick?”

“Silly,” Margot smiled. “I find two blue eyes and four large tears more effective than anything else.”

“I’ll wait upstairs,” Albert said dubiously. “If you fail, try and give me a few minutes warning. Your father would appreciate a moving target, I think. And I can promise you I would really move.”

Margot squared her small jaw stubbornly.

“I’ll swing him around. I’m almost sure of it. I’m going to convince him you aren’t as bad as he thinks you are. You go to your room and wait there for me. I’ll beard father in his den.” Albert kissed her fondly. “You brave, brave girl,” he said admiringly.

Some minutes later, Albert slipped quietly into his room. He had little hope of Margot changing her father’s mind and so, with the caution of the Addin clan, he intended to get things ready for a speedy departure.

His room, he discovered then, was not unoccupied. Squatting on the floor was George, the genie, and another individual dressed in a white apron and a chef’s hat. Stacks of greenbacks were piled before this latter chap, and Albert heard the music click of ivory cubes as they bounced across the floor.

The cook scrambled to his feet as Albert entered.

“I beg your pardon, sir,” he said breathlessly, “but me and your man was just indulgin’ in a harmless game of dice, sir. I was just taking my leave, sir, as you came in.”

“Then take it,” Albert said, “and take your winnings too. I want to talk to my man alone. If I should decide to draw and quarter him I wouldn’t want anyone around to stop it.”

The cook stooped and stuffed several thick wads of currency into his pockets and then left the room hurriedly.

“Before we get down to the important things,” Albert said darkly, “I’d like to know where you got all that money you lost?”

George beamed broadly.

“Sure, Boss. I’ll show yuh. Yuh seemed to like dat green stuff I got yuh dis morning so I went back and got some more of it. I yam only trying to be a good genie.”

Albert considered the matter thoughtfully.

“So you just went back and got some more eh?” he asked quietly.

“Yup,” George answered hesitantly. “Where did you go?” Albert asked patiently.

“To a place,” George answered brightly, “to a place where they got it.” Albert settled down in a chair and crossed his knees carefully. He lighted a cigarette and blew a cloud of blue smoke toward the ceiling. Somehow, it seemed desperately important to him to do these unimportant things deliberately and methodically. George stood before him, his face a mixture of anxiety and fear.

“Have you got any more of this stuff?” Albert asked casually.

“Yup,” George’s voice was happy and hopeful, “I brung lots of it cause I thought youse would like it.”

Albert had a temporary siege of dizziness, but it passed, leaving him outwardly calm, but inwardly shaking. “Where is it?” he managed to ask. George was smiling broadly.

“I knew yuh would like it,” he said relieved. “I yam glad ’cause I only want to do things yuh will like.”

“That is very touching,” Albert said, with a bit of irritation, “but please tell me where the rest of the stuff is.”

“Oh sure,” George said anxiously.

He stepped to the closet door and jerked it open.

Albert sucked in his breath sharply, jolted completely from his affected calm and indifference. For the closet was literally stuffed full of bundle after bundle of crisp, green banknotes!

Piled six feet from the floor, they formed a column fully two feet square.

“There must be,” Albert thought with a sickening gasp, “millions on millions of dollars cached in that closet!”

“George,” he gasped weakly, “where did you get this stuff?”

“From the place,” George answered proudly, “from the place wit all the steel bars and cages. I found all this stuff down in de basement in a big vault. I just took all I could see. Why? Ain’tcha glad?”

“No,” moaned Albert, “I am not glad. This is stolen property. I’ll go to jail for grand larceny, and by the time I get out I’ll have whiskers down to my knees.”

“Don’cha like whiskers,” George asked solicitously.

Albert sighed helplessly.

“No,” he said, with a quiet prayer for patience, “I don’t like whiskers.” Before George could reply there was a knock on the door.

“Who is it?” Albert asked, heart hammering wildly in sudden guilt.

“It’s me. Margot.”

Albert slammed the closet door shut. “Coming dear!” he sang out. He shoved George into the bathroom and closed the door on his bewildered, wounded countenance. “Right away dear!” he cried with false heartiness. He hurried across the room then, throwing open the door. Margot was in the hallway, a mischievous smile dancing in her eyes.

“The elephant gun,” she announced solemnly, “has been hung back on the wall and all the cartridges removed.”

“Darling,” Albert cried unbelievingly, “it’s too good to be true!”

“You’re forgiven,” Margot said seriously, “but you must be on your best behavior from now on. Father is still furious but he’s willing to let bygones be bygones.”

“Very sporting of the old boy,” Albert said cheerfully. “I’ll be the model young man for the rest of my stay.”

“Since you’re staying,” Margot said resolutely, “I’ll help you unpack. The closet in this room is in a frightful state. It should have been straightened out before you arrived, but we can attend to it now.” She smiled up at him. “It’ll be kind of fun working together won’t it? As if it were our own place.”

Albert smiled down at her and wondered how such an angel could actually be in love with him. “Come in, darling,” he said blissfully, “we’ll pitch right into it, clean things up in—” His voice choked off in his throat as one appalling thought suddenly struck him. The closet was packed with ill-gotten currency of the realm. He would be branded a vicious bank robber while his promises to be on his best behavior were still echoing through the room!

“No, no,” he cried, “you can’t go in there!”

“Why, Albert,” Margot stared at him in amazement. “What do you mean?”

“I–I mean,” Albert thought desperately, “I won’t have you lowering yourself. That’s what I mean. I–I’ll do the work, er, after you’ve gone. I don’t want you soiling those little white hands of yours. What kind of a man do you think I am anyway?”

“Oh, Albert,” Margot laughed, “that is sweet of you. But it’s also very silly. I don’t mind the work a bit. And it simply has to be done. So let’s get busy.”

“No,” Albert cried frantically, “you don’t understand, Margot! You really mustn’t go into this closet. This is very serious, dear, and I wish you would respect my wishes.”

“Albert,” Margot said worriedly, “you’re acting awfully strange.”

Albert thought frantically.

“My aunt was killed from overwork,” he lied brazenly, “and since that day I can’t bear to see any woman working. I’ve never told you — but now you know how I feel.”

“You never told me about your aunt,” Margot said suspiciously. “I understood that you didn’t have any.”

“Life’s little surprises,” Albert said inanely. “Variety is the spice of things y’know. Aunt Agatha was a great old girl. She used to shovel coal, split wood, haul ice, take care of the horses. Indispensable type y’know. But the strain told on her and just before her ninetieth birthday she passed away. We all missed her terribly. The horses most of all. So that’s how it is. Till this day I can’t bear to see the weaker sex putting their nose to the wheel as it were.”

He took her by the arm and led her to the door.

“I’ll take care of the closet,” he said blithely. “Pip! Pip!”

“You are completely crazy,” she murmured. “It’s a wonder I put up with you at all. I’ll leave, for you obviously want me to, but don’t forget dinner at six. It’s your last chance to prove to father that you haven’t got squirrel blood in you.”

“But I have,” Albert pointed out solemnly, before he closed the door.

“Why didn’tcha let her in the closet?” George’s voice, perplexed and unhappy, sounded behind him.

Albert turned wearily.

“You wouldn’t understand George,” he said, sighing. “It’s very involved.”

“Would it fix things,” George asked intently, “if I wuz to fill all the closets up with that green stuff?”

“No!” Albert shouted. His patience was fraying fast. “Why don’t you leave me alone? You bother me. You give me a pain in the neck.”

“You — you mean that?” George asked sorrowfully.

“Certainly,” Albert snapped.

“Okay,” George sighed. “I don’t like to do it but I yam only trying to please.” The genie waved one hand in the air slowly and Albert felt a sudden sharp pain flash up his back to his neck.

“Ouch,” he yelled. “What the devil are you doing?”

George looked bewilderedly apologetic.

“You told me to give you a pain in the neck,” he said stubbornly. “I yam only doing what I yarn told.”

“All right, all right,” Albert said desperately. “Get a towel and some hot water.”

It took George the rest of the afternoon to massage Albert’s neck back to its customary limberness and wellbeing. By the time the job was done Albert had to break all speed records in clambering into his evening clothes. It wouldn’t do to be late for dinner tonight, of all nights. The old boy would simply scalp him without any preliminaries at all.

“Stay up here in the room,” he warned George before he left. “Keep out of trouble. If I need anything I’ll come back up.”

George nodded understanding, quiet pleased that Albert was entrusting such valuable orders to him.

Albert hurried to the library. Aunt Annabelle was there with Margot. Major Mastiff was standing before the fireplace talking to two strangers dressed in conservative grey suits. They looked up as Albert entered. Major Mastiff turned and glared into the fire, leaving Margot to handle the introductions.

“Albert,” she said somewhat uneasily, “these gentlemen are government agents. They’re down here to investigate a very baffling robbery that occurred at the town bank some time today.”

Albert swallowed suddenly. His heart began to leap at his ribs like an imprisoned rabbit.

“V-very glad to know you,” he stammered. One of the agents was heavy and dark and a Smith. The other was light and fair and a Jones. They shook hands firmly.

“U-unexpected pleasure,” Albert assured them lamely, “did you say you were down here on a bank robbery?” The Smith answered:

“Yes. As a matter of fact we’ve traced the notes to this locality. It seems Major Mastiff’s cook spent a good deal of money this afternoon in the village tavern and when we checked on the bills we discovered them to be those which were stolen from the bank this morning. We hurried here but it seems the bird has flown the coop. The cook didn’t return from the village so he’s probably miles away from here by this time.”

Albert was perspiring profusely. He remembered all too well that the cook had won the banknotes from George after lunch. Here the tireless wolves of the law were sniffing around and a closet full of incriminating bills was directly over their heads.

“Too bad about the cook,” he murmured half-heartedly. “I suppose he’s gone for good now,” he added hopefully.

“Not at all,” the Jones answered, laughing. “We’ll have him in custody in twenty-four hours. And when we do we’ll find out who his confederates are in short order.”

Margot interrupted to ask the officers to stay for dinner and Albert slumped into a chair, his strength slipping away from him. All hope was dead now. He might just as well give up gracefully and pray that they’d assign him to something light, like sweeping out the prison library.

So immersed in his own gloomy thoughts was Albert, that he did not notice the slightly frantic discussion going on between the major, Aunt Annabelle and Margot. He didn’t look up until he heard the major’s voice. It wasn’t just the major’s voice that snapped him from his reverie, it was the apologetic tone in it that electrified him.

He peered up and saw that the major was speaking to the two government agents.

“I am completely desolated,” the major was saying humbly. “Never in all the years I have been head of Mastiff Manor have we been placed in such a humiliating position. Our hospitality, sir, is a watchword in this part of the country and it pains us most grievously to be forced to admit that the absence of our cook makes it impossible for us to ask you to dine with us. Not for forty years has it been necessary for us to turn anyone from our door. The bitter necessity that forces us to do so now is deeply regretted by all of us. I am more miserable, sirs, than my words convey. All I can hope for is your understanding and forgiveness.”

“Well,” Albert said practically, “maybe they can come out with us, and we’ll rustle up something. Bread and butter and coffee wouldn’t be too hard to take right now.”

“Bread and butter!” the major echoed stridently, “are you mad? And do you have the unmitigated gall to suggest that Mastiff guests retire to the scullery to prepare their own foods?”

“I’m afraid I did,” Albert said nervously. “I just forget myself sometimes, major. Pay no attention to me.”

“I never have,” the major snapped frostily.

Margot sat down beside Albert.

“Don’t antagonize father,” she whispered. “He’s terribly sensitive about the Mastiff reputation for hospitality. If you could do something to save the day, Albert, you’d win him over completely for life.”

“What could I do?” Albert asked helplessly. “I might try wishing hard and snapping my fingers, but that never does work.”

He brooded darkly for several seconds and then, like a bolt of lightning, a marvelous idea popped into his head.

George, the genie, could handle this situation!

If George could fix things up, he, Albert, could take the credit and he’d be in solid with the old duck for the duration.

He patted Margot’s hand reassuringly, and then he strode from the library and took the steps two at a time. He plunged into his room without knocking and found George sleeping comfortably in the armchair.

He shook him roughly, but it was several minutes before George opened his eyes and regarded him sleepily.

“Whatcha want?” he grunted.

“I got a job for you,” Albert said enthusiastically, “a big job that will really try you out. Want to take a crack at it?”

George straightened up with alacrity.

“Gosh, this is what I’ve been waiting for,” he gasped happily. “Whatcha want?”

“A banquet,” Albert explained, “for six people. All the trimmings. Wine, food, everything that goes with it.” George was beaming happily now. “That wuz my specialty in the old days,” he said excitedly. “I’ll fix you up like I used to for my old pal, the Sultan.”

“Good,” Albert nodded approval. “Don’t let me down now, this means a lot to me. I’m going downstairs and tell them to tie their napkins on tight. Then you can wave the magic wand and we’ll eat.”

“Yup, that’s right,” George grinned expectantly. “I can’t wait to get started again. Today I yam going to be a man.”

Albert winked at him in conspiratorial conviviality and then whistling happily, strode from the room and down the winding flight of stairs that led to the library.

“The crisis is past,” he announced with jovial loudness as he strode into the library, “food is on the way. Food, fit for a king. The Mastiff banner is again flying high before a headwind of delightful aromas. The Mastiff honor is saved. We eat royally and sumptuously. The motto of Mastiff Manor shall always be: Eat to your heart’s content and you’ll find bicarbonate of soda on the first shelf to the right.”

“Oh Albert,” Margot cried, “did you really arrange for something?”

“Listen, you congenital ass,” barked Major Mastiff, “I will not tolerate any more of your damfoolishness. If you have provided for a suitable repast, I am willing to admit that my judgment of you might have been somewhat premature. But if this is another of your moronic attempts at humor I shall—” The major broke off in the middle of the sentence — listening!

Everyone else in the room, including Albert, turned toward the double doors that led to the library — listening!

“W-what is it?” Margot asked nervously.

“Music,” Albert gulped. “J — just music.”

It was music, but strange, compelling, sensuous music that trilled sweetly through the room, growing in intensity and volume every second!

Before another word could be spoken, four huge, turbaned figures moved slowly into the room. In their hands they held reedlike musical instruments, with which they produced the weird, hauntingly beautiful music that was filling the room.

“I say!” gasped Major Mastiff.

Following the musicians came eight young men bearing large trays of steaming, delightfully fragrant foods. They placed the trays on the floor, forming a semi-circle with them and then they backed to the wall where they remained motionless.

Albert was beginning to comprehend. This was the banquet! George was really outdoing himself on this job. He turned and smiled smugly at the major who was staring at the food in open consternation.

“Wasn’t much,” he said condescendingly to him, “just a little something I whipped up myself.”

But the procession had not ended. Husky, brown skinned attendants came next, carrying huge trays brimming with glittering, sparkling, indescribably gorgeous gems of all descriptions.

“Well, well,” Albert murmured, “very, very pretty.”

“Very, very pretty,” the government agent, named Smith, said in a hard, precise voice, “very pretty indeed. Also very indiscreet.”

Before Albert could glean the meaning from this cryptic remark, another part of the procession arrived. A part which caused a sharp, shocked exclamation from Margot, and a gasp of pure dismay from Aunt Annabelle.

Albert looked, and his knees turned to rubber. For the room was filling with dozens and dozens of scantily clad dancing girls, who were wriggling and undulating their extremely provocative torsoes to the pagan piping of the turbaned musicians!

They were gorgeous, lushly beautiful creatures, with black lustrous hair and dark coquettish eyes that flashed slyly about the room. Their bodies were divinely fashioned and, except for a few insignificant wisps of lace, almost completely unclad.

“So,” Margot cried, “this is your idea of good, clean entertainment, is it? These creatures, these hussies, you think they’re just wonderful, don’t you? Well I’m glad I found out about you before we were married, Mr. Addin.”

“Darling,” Albert choked, “I had nothing to do with any of this. You don’t understand. You don’t—”

“I understand perfectly,” Margot cut in witheringly. She turned to Aunt Annabelle, who after her first shock had worn off, was staring in undisguised envy at the dancing girls. “Are you coming, Aunt Annabelle?” Margot asked in a perfectly calm voice.

“Y — yes,” Aunt Annabelle said flusteredly. She strode past Albert, drawing her skirts slightly to one side as she passed him, and the two women left the room, arm in arm.

“Amazingly irregular occurrence,” the major muttered, as if he doubted whether any of it had actually occurred or not.

“Very irregular,” the government agent snapped. “So irregular that we’re going to hold you, Major Mastiff, until we find out what the customs inspector has to say about this contraband jewelry. Not to mention the possibility that these aliens might have been illegally smuggled into this country.”

“Hold me?” the major bleated. “Why that’s preposterous. Utterly ridiculous.”

“Nevertheless we’re going to do it. Dick,” one agent snapped to the other, “search this house from top to bottom. There may be more loot lying around here!”

“You blithering nincompoop,” the major raged at Albert, “this whole blasted affair is your fault!”

“Tut, tut,” Albert said reprovingly, “that’s not the attitude for the condemned man to take. I wouldn’t say too much either till you’ve talked to your attorney.”

“You blasted—” Major Mastiff finished the sentence in a growl.

The G-man stepped to the major’s side and snapped a handcuff on his wrist. “Now relax,” he said, as the major began to resist, “this is just a precaution.” He snapped the other end of the cuff to the arm of a heavy chair.

The dancing girls were milling around uncertainly and, together with the food bearers and the jewel bearers, they formed quite a noisy crowd. The musicians had stopped their music and were staring vaguely about, like men gazing at unfamiliar scenes. The jewels and the food and the bales of silks and satins were piled helter-skelter in the middle of the floor. Everyone was present, Albert thought worriedly, but George, the creator, so to speak, of all this confusion.

Albert strolled back to the chair where Major Mastiff was cuffed.

“Sorry about this,” he said cheerfully, “but it’s not too bad. With luck you’ll get off with five or ten years.”

“Leave me alone,” Major Mastiff shrilled impotently.

The other G-man returned to the room, an atmosphere of suppressed excitement showing in his face. He whispered a few terse words to his fellow officer, then the two of them turned, suddenly grabbed Albert firmly by the arms.

“No tricks,” one warned, “we found the banknotes in your closet. All accounted for except those you bribed the cook with.”

Before Albert could raise his voice to protest, he found himself handcuffed to the same chair that the major was linked to.

“This is an outrage,” he sputtered, “I didn’t steal that money.”

“You can tell that to our inspector,” the Smith replied. “This thing is getting a little too big for us to handle. We’re going to phone the village, and in half an hour the case will be out of our hands. Our inspector is waiting there for our report and when we phone him the dope you can be sure he’ll be right out.”

The Smith found the phone in the dining room and in a few minutes they could hear his excited voice floating out to them.

“Yeah, Chief, it’s on the level. We’ve recovered the banknotes and we’ve discovered a lot of jewels and silks and stuff that looks as if it might have been slipped in illegal. Also there’s about two dozen dancing girls and a lot of oriental musicians and — what chief? No I haven’t been drinking. I haven’t touched a drop. Honest. They’re all here... O.K. We’ll be expecting you then... Good-bye.

The Smith re-entered the room and at the same second, from the opposite door, George, the genie, looking haggard and disillusioned, entered.

Albert turned to Major Mastiff.

“I hope,” he said critically, “that you’ll make an interesting cell-mate.”

“Bahhhh,” growled the Major, “this is a lot of ridiculous tommy-rot.”

“Yes,” Albert said softly, “but have you figured out how you’re going to explain all this?” His hand described a graceful circle that included the dancers, musicians and gems and silks.

Major Mastiff was silent for some minutes. Then he shook his head slowly and despairingly.

“No,” he said, “I haven’t.”

“I’ve got an idea,” Albert said hopefully, “but we’ve got to get that big baboon that just came in to cooperate with us.”

George was moving toward them, a woe-begone expression on his face. He slumped down in a chair opposite them and stared moodily at his large feet.

G-man Jones looked at him suspiciously.

“Who’re you?” he asked.

“He’s my valet,” Albert said quickly.

“Don’t get too close to those guys,” Jones warned George and then he turned away. He fumbled in his pocket for an instant and then he turned back. “Got a cigarette?” he asked George.

George handed a pack to him.

“Mind if I take a couple for my partner?” Jones asked.

George nodded dully and in a few seconds a blue wreath of sweetish smoke was wafting ceiling-ward from the cigarettes of the two officers.

“George,” Albert said desperately, “you’ve got to get us out of this jam. It’s all your fault, you know.”

“What kin I do?” George asked.

“Pip! Pip!” Albert said for moral effect. “Just a wave of the palm, a snap of the finger and send all these people back where they came from. Simple and neat.”

George shook his huge head glumly.

“I can’t, I yam not a genie. I yam a blundering, nonsensical s-something else.”

“Who told you that?” Albert asked uneasily.

“The old lady,” George said moodily, “I yam not a genie. I never was, I guess. Everything I do goes wrong. I yam a flop, I guess.”

“Aunt Annabelle,” Albert said bitterly, “has been giving you her version of the pat on the back.”

“I met her in the hall,” George said thickly, “and I told her I was a genie. She said I wuzn’t. She said I wuz drunk, and a loud mouth and a nonsensical something else. I feel terrible. I yam never going to pretend I yam a genie again.”

“You weren’t pretending,” Albert said frantically, “you were a genie, you are a genie, and now you’ve got to help us, you’ve simply got to! It’s getting late, George. You’ve got to do something.”

George shook his head slowly but decisively. “I wuz a fake, that’s what I wuz. That must have been why I wuz never given my union card.”

Things were whirring about in Albert’s head. “If this goes on much longer,” he thought wildly, “I shall go completely mad.” Here they were, in a neat air-tight mess, and every second brought more police and more witnesses to the scene. The only person who might extricate them was George, And George, the stupid lumbering hod, was not going to cooperate. Albert cursed the psychological quirk that had given George an inferior complex, made him susceptible to Aunt Annabelle’s uncomplimentary tirade.

Albert frowned deeply and buried his head in his hands. The whole thing was maddening. Psychology, psychology, that was the trouble. Psychology—! Maybe the solution was in psychology!

His head jerked up from his hands. George was still slumped in the chair, a picture of dejection.

“George,” he said, “I believe Aunt Annabelle was right. You’re not a genie at all. You’re a fake, through and through.” If Albert was expecting a show of temper he was somewhat disappointed.

George nodded glumly.

“Like I wuz telling you, I yam only a fake.”

“Sure,” Albert said bitterly, “You’re just a common fraud, a cheap magician—”

“I yam not,” George said firmly.

“You certainly are,” Albert was equally emphatic, “you’re just a clever magician.”

“I yam not a magician,” George said stoutly, “I yam a — I yam a...” his voice trailed off sheepishly, and he finished lamely, “not a magician.”

“You are a magician,” Albert said quietly. “I know because, because I am a genie.”

George looked up quickly this time.

“Haw, haw,” he said, “that’s funny. I’ll betcha can’t fly a flying carpet.”

An idea was growing in Albert’s head. He fished in his vest pocket and when his fingers touched a tiny package there, he breathed a silent prayer. It was some flashlight powder that he intended using in shooting some night groups. There was friendly, crackling fire in the grate that would serve his purpose.

“Look,” he shouted suddenly, “see if you can do anything half as difficult.” As he finished speaking he shot out his arm in the direction of the fire, tossing the package of flashlight powder into the fire. It blazed up in a great white flame, with a muffled ominous sound. Smoke, billowing white clouds of it, poured from the chimney. Albert waved his hand again and the fire seemed to settle back to normal.

George was somewhat impressed.

“Purty good,” he said.

“Not hard,” Albert said modestly.

“Not for a genie anyway.”

George sat up in his chair.

“I’ll show yuh I ain’t no ordinary magician,” he said grimly. He looked about the room, looked up at the shining chandelier, gleaming with dozens of electric lights. With a stupidly happy smile he snapped his fingers. Instantly, magically, the bulbs disappeared, were replaced by long, quietly burning candles.

One of the officers came over then. There seemed to be something wrong with his feet. He stumbled twice before he reached George’s side.

“That’s a pretty clever trick,” he said with some difficulty. “Got any more cigarettes, Bud? What kind are they anyway?”

George handed him the pack.

“Hasheesh,” he answered.

Albert swallowed suddenly, but the government agents were already lighting up again. Albert peered at the clock. In a matter of minutes the Inspector would be here and then their goose was cooked. He turned back to George.

“I’ve got one, now, that only a genie can do.” Albert pointed to the curious musicians, the dancing girls, the food bearers, the trays of food and gems. “I’m going to send all that back where it came from,” he announced matter-of-factly. “On top of that I’m going to send back all the green stuff up in the closet to where it came from, at the same time. You’ll admit that that’s quite a job, won’t you?”

George was frowning now with what might be professional envy.

Albert waved his hand around his head and then shouted out his college yell. When the hideous noise ceased echoing, Albert slumped into his chair, and stared at the openly disapproving musicians and dancers.

“Well,” he said, “didn’t make it, did I?” He peered slyly at George. This was the nub of his scheme. “Now you try it, George.”

Just then there came a loud authoritative knocking on the door.

Major Mastiff groaned.

“The police! Everything is over!” George stood up.

“I’ll let ’em in,” he said cheerfully, “I like answering the door.” He turned and headed toward the front door.

Albert felt a wave of bitterness and gall wash over him.

“Magician!” he sang out bitterly. George wheeled, flushing angrily. “I’ll show youse!” His big fingers snapped like a cracking limb. There was a blinding flash and when Albert blinked his eyes and opened them again the room was empty, except for the two befuddled officers, Major Mastiff and himself!

“Eureka!” Albert shrieked, and then, from sheer relief he fainted away...

It seemed ages later when Albert woke and opened his eyes. George’s moon-like face was peering solicitously down at him. “Are the Cossacks gone?” he asked feebly.

“All gone,” George said bewilderedly. Albert sat up, beaming broadly. “Pip! Pip!” he chortled, “tell me everything that happened. I can guess most of it, but I still want to hear it.”

“The officer wuz real mad,” George said solemnly, “when he got here and didn’t find nobody but his two men sleeping in the corner. Hully gee, he called them a lot of names and then he had them carried out to his car. He wuz real sorry you wuz bothered, and he wunted me to tell you that.”

“Where’s Major Mastiff?” Albert asked with some of his old caution.

“In bed,” George answered. “He wuz tired.”

Albert stretched out luxuriously. “George,” he said gratefully, “you saved my life. By getting rid of all that evidence you did me and Major Mastiff a real big favor. If there’s anything I can do for you, just name it.”

“How about a steady job?” George asked breathlessly, “I yam handy in the house and I got good refrunces. How about keeping me on?”

Albert frowned.

“I’ll tell you what I’ll do, George,” he said thoughtfully, “if you can fix up the little squabble Miss Margot Mastiff and I had some time ago, you’re on. If she’s here in my arms in fifteen minutes the job is yours.”

“Okay, Boss,” George said and lumbered out of the room.

P.S. — He got the job.