Part 5 (1/2)
Wilbraham's heart sank within him.
”It--it isn't overdrawn, is it?” he whispered, hoa.r.s.ely.
”No, it isn't,” said the secretary.
”By Jove!” cried Wilbraham, drawing a deep sigh of relief, and springing to his feet, grasping Oberon by both hands. ”Sit down, sit down! You have been a benefactor to me, sir.”
”I am glad you realize that fact, Mr. Wilbraham,” said the fairy, somewhat coldly. ”It makes it easier for me to say what I have come here to say. We did not realize, Mr. Wilbraham,” he went on, ”when we awarded you the three original wishes that you would be clever enough to work the wish business up into an industry. If we had we should have made the wishes non-c.u.mulative. We were perfectly willing to permit a reasonable overdraft also, but we didn't expect you to pyramid your holdings the way you have done until you have practically secured a corner in the market.”
Wilbraham grinned broadly.
”I have been going some,” he said.
”Rather,” said Oberon. ”Your original three wishes have been watered until we find in going over our books for the second year that they reach the sum total of three million five hundred and sixty-nine thousand four hundred and thirty-seven, and that you still have an unexpended balance on hand of four hundred and ninety-seven thousand three hundred and seventy-four wishes. The situation is just this,” he continued. ”Our company has been kept so busy honoring your drafts that we are threatened with a general strike. We didn't mind building you a chateau and furbis.h.i.+ng up your old chicken-farm, and setting you up for life, but when you enter into negotiations with old John W. Midas to incorporate yourself into a wish trust we feel that the time has come to call a halt. The fairies are honest, and no obligation of theirs will ever be repudiated, but we think that a man who tries to build up a billion-dollar corporation to deal in wishes on an investment of one poached egg is just a leetle unreasonable. Even Rockernegie had a trifle more than a paper of tacks when he founded the iron trust.”
”By ginger, Oberon,” said Wilbraham, ”you are right! I _have_ rather put it on to you people and I'm sorry. I wouldn't embarra.s.s you good fairies for anything in the world.”
”Good!” cried Oberon, overjoyed. ”I thought you would feel that way.
Just think for one moment what it would mean for us if the Great Wish Syndicate were started as a going concern, with a board of directors made up of men like John W. Midas, Rockernegie, and old Bondifeller running things. Why, there aren't fairies enough in the world to keep up with those men, and the whole business world would come down with a crash. Their wish would elect a whole Congress. If they wished the Senate out of Was.h.i.+ngton and located on Wall Street, you'd soon find it so, and, by thunder, Wilbraham, every four years they'd wish somebody in the White House with a great capacity for taking orders and not enough spine to fill an umbrella cover, and the public would be powerless.”
Wilbraham gazed thoughtfully out of the window. A dazzling prospect of imperial proportions loomed up before his vision, and the temptation was terrible, but in the end common sense came to the rescue.
”It would be a terrible nuisance,” he muttered to himself, and then turning to Oberon he asked: ”What is your proposition?”
”A compromise,” said the fairy. ”If you'll give up your right to further wishes on our account we will place you in a position where, for the rest of your natural life, you will always have four dollars more than you need, and in addition to that, as a compliment to Mrs. Wilbraham, she can have everything she wants.”
”Ha!” said Wilbraham, dubiously. ”I--I don't think I'd like that exactly. She might want something I didn't want her to have.”
”Very well, then,” said the fairy, with a broad smile. ”We'll make you the flat proposition--you give us a quit-claim deed to all your future right, t.i.tle, and interest in our wishes, and we will guarantee that as long as you live you will, upon every occasion, find in your pocket five dollars more than you need.”
”Make it seven and I'll go you!” cried Wilbraham, really enthusiastic over the suggestion.
”Sure!” returned Oberon with a deep sigh of relief.
”Well, dearest,” said Wilbraham that night as he sat down at his onyx dinner-table, ”I've gone out of the wish business.”
His wife's eyes lit up with a glow of happiness.
”You have?” she cried, delightedly.
”Yes,” said Wilbraham; and then he told her of Oberon's call, and the new arrangement, and was rejoiced beyond measure to receive her approval of it.
”I am so glad, Richard,” she murmured, with a sigh of content. ”I have been kept so busy for two years trying to think of new things to wish for that I have had no time to enjoy all the beautiful things we have.”
”And it isn't bad to have seven dollars more than you need whenever you need it, is it, dearest?”
”Bad, Richard?” she returned. ”Bad? I should say not, my beloved. To have seven dollars more than you need at all times is, to my mind, the height of an ideal prosperity. I need five thousand dollars at this very minute to pay my milliner's bill.”