Twelve Stories and a DreamWells, H. G. (Herbert George)
Science
Twelve Stories and a Dream
Wells, H. G. (Herbert George)
Science fiction, English; Short stories
I tried to find out what they cost, but the shopman did not heed me.
He had got Gip now; he had got him away from my finger; he had embarked
upon the exposition of all his confounded stock, and nothing was going
to stop him. Presently I saw with a qualm of distrust and something very
like jealousy that Gip had hold of this person's finger as usually he
has hold of mine. No doubt the fellow was interesting, I thought,
and had an interestingly faked lot of stuff, really GOOD faked stuff,
still--
I wandered after them, saying very little, but keeping an eye on this
prestidigital fellow. After all, Gip was enjoying it. And no doubt when
the time came to go we should be able to go quite easily.
It was a long, rambling place, that show-room, a gallery broken up
by stands and stalls and pillars, with archways leading off to other
departments, in which the queerest-looking assistants loafed and stared
at one, and with perplexing mirrors and curtains. So perplexing, indeed,
were these that I was presently unable to make out the door by which we
had come.
The shopman showed Gip magic trains that ran without steam or clockwork,
just as you set the signals, and then some very, very valuable boxes of
soldiers that all came alive directly you took off the lid and said--. I
myself haven't a very quick ear and it was a tongue-twisting sound,
but Gip--he has his mother's ear--got it in no time. “Bravo!” said the
shopman, putting the men back into the box unceremoniously and handing
it to Gip. “Now,” said the shopman, and in a moment Gip had made them
all alive again.
“You'll take that box?” asked the shopman.
“We'll take that box,” said I, “unless you charge its full value. In
which case it would need a Trust Magnate--”
“Dear heart! NO!” and the shopman swept the little men back again, shut
the lid, waved the box in the air, and there it was, in brown paper,
tied up and--WITH GIP'S FULL NAME AND ADDRESS ON THE PAPER!
The shopman laughed at my amazement.
“This is the genuine magic,” he said. “The real thing.”
“It's a little too genuine for my taste,” I said again.
After that he fell to showing Gip tricks, odd tricks, and still odder
the way they were done. He explained them, he turned them inside out,
and there was the dear little chap nodding his busy bit of a head in the
sagest manner.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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