She rose hastily and obeyed; a rain of silver coins fell, then gold, then
banknotes, littering the floor. Then precious stones began to drop about
her; she shook them from her hair, her collar, her neck; she clenched her
hands in nervous amazement, but inside each tight little fist she felt
something, and opening her fingers she fairly showered the floor with
diamonds.
"Can't you save one for me?" he asked. "I really need it." But when again
she looked for the glittering heap at her feet, it was gone; and, search
as she might, not one coin, not one gem remained.
Glancing up in dismay she found herself in a perfect storm of white
butterflies--no, they were red--no, green!
"Is there anything in this world you desire?" he asked her.
"A--a glass of water----"
She was already holding it in her hands, and she cried out in amazement,
spilling the brimming glass; but no water fell, only a rain of little
crimson flames.
"I can't--can't drink this--can I?" she faltered.
"With perfect safety," he smiled, and she tasted it.
"Taste it again," he said.
She tried it; it was lemonade.
"Again."
It was ginger ale.
"Once more."
She stared at the glass, frothing with ice-cream soda; there was a long
silver spoon in it, too.
Enchanted, she lay back, savoring her ice, shyly watching him.
He went on gayly doing uncanny or charming things; her eyes were tired,
dazzled, but not too weary to watch him, though she scarcely followed the
marvelous objects that appeared and vanished and glittered and flamed
under his ceaselessly busy hands.
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