CONJURER. You have already told me what he did. He destroyed a fairy tale, for he created a fairy tale that he was bound to destroy. [_Swinging round suddenly on the table._] But do you blame a man very much, Miss Carleon, if he enjoyed the only fairy tale he had had in his life? Suppose he said the silly circles he was drawing for practice were really magic circles? Suppose he said the bosh he was talking was the language of the elves? Remember, he has read fairy tales as much as you have. Fairy tales are the only democratic institutions. All the classes have heard all the fairy tales. Do you blame him very much if he, too, tried to have a holiday in fairyland? PATRICIA. [_Simply._] I blame him less than I did. But I still say there can be nothing worse than false magic. And, after all, it was he who brought the false magic. CONJURER. [_Rising from his seat._] Yes. It was she who brought the real magic. [_Enter_ MORRIS, _in evening-dress. He walks straight up to the conjuring-table; and picks up one article after another, putting each down with a comment._ MORRIS. I know that one. I know that. I know that. Let's see, that's the false bottom, I think. That works with a wire. I know that; it goes up the sleeve. That's the false bottom again. That's the substituted pack of cards--that.... PATRICIA. Really, Morris, you mustn't talk as if you knew everything. CONJURER. Oh, I don't mind anyone knowing everything, Miss Carleon. There is something that is much more important than knowing how a thing is done. MORRIS. And what's that? CONJURER. Knowing how to do it. MORRIS. [_Becoming nasal again in anger._] That's so, eh? Being the high-toned conjurer because you can't any longer take all the sidewalk as a fairy. PATRICIA. [_Crossing the room and speaking seriously to her brother._] Really, Morris, you are very rude. And it's quite ridiculous to be rude. This gentleman was only practising some tricks by himself in the garden. [_With a certain dignity._] If there was any mistake, it was mine. Come, shake hands, or whatever men do when they apologize. Don't be silly. He won't turn you into a bowl of goldfish. MORRIS. [_Reluctantly._] Well, I guess that's so. [_Offering his hand._] Shake. [_They shake hands._] And you won't turn me into a bowl of goldfish anyhow, Professor. I understand that when you do produce a bowl of goldfish, they are generally slips of carrot. That is so, Professor? CONJURER. [_Sharply._] Yes. [_Produces a bowl of goldfish from his tail pockets and holds it under the other's nose._] Judge for yourself. MORRIS. [_In monstrous excitement._] Very good! Very good! But I know how that's done--I know how that's done. You have an india-rubber cap, you know, or cover.... CONJURER. Yes. [_Goes back gloomily to his table and sits on it, picking up a pack of cards and balancing it in his hand._