Part 8 (1/2)

Jimmieboy hastened into the parlor, and climbing upon the mantel-piece gazed into the mirror, and, much to his surprise, noticed that he was growing fast. He was four inches high when he got there, and then as the minutes pa.s.sed he lengthened inch by inch, until finally he found himself just as he had been before he ate the apple.

”Well, what are you going to do about it?” he asked, when he returned to the telephone.

”I don't know,” said the Imp. ”It's really too bad, for that's the last apple of that sort I had. The trick-apple trees only bear one apple a year, and I have been saving that one for you ever since last summer, and here, just because you were greedy, it has all gone for nothing.”

”I'm very sorry, and very much ashamed,” said Jimmieboy, ruefully. ”It was really so awfully good, I didn't think.”

”Well, it's very thoughtless of you not to think,” said the Imp. ”I should think you'd feel very small.”

”I do!” sobbed Jimmieboy.

”Do you, really?” cried the Imp, gleefully. ”Real weeny, teeny small.”

”Yes,” said Jimmieboy, a tear trickling down his cheek.

”Then it's all right,” sang the Imp, dancing a lovely jig to show how glad he felt. ”Because we are always the way we feel. If you feel sick, you are sick. If you feel good, you are good, and if you feel sorry, you are sorry, and so, don't you see, if you feel small you are small. The only point is, now, do you feel small enough to get into this room?”

”I think I do,” returned Jimmieboy, brightening up considerably, because his one great desire now was not to be a big grown-up man, like his papa, who could sharpen lead-pencils, and go out of doors in snow-storms, but to visit the Imp in his own quarters. ”Yes,” he repeated, ”I think I do feel small enough to get in there.”

”You've got to know,” returned the Imp. ”The trouble with you, I believe, is that you think in the wrong places. This isn't a matter of thinking; it's a matter of knowing.”

”Well, then, I know I'm small enough,” said Jimmieboy. ”The only thing is, how am I to get up there?”

”I'll fix that,” replied the Imp, with a happy smile. ”I'll let down the wires, and you can come up on them.”

Here he began to unwind two thin green silk-covered wires that Jimmieboy had not before noticed, and which were coiled about two small spools fastened on the back of the door.

”I can't climb,” said Jimmieboy, watching the operation with interest.

”n.o.body asked you to,” returned the Imp. ”When these have reached the floor I want you to fasten them to the newel-post of the stairs.”

”All right,” said Jimmieboy, grasping the wires, and fastening them as he was told. ”What now?”

”Now I'll send down the elevator,” said the Imp, as he loosened a huge magnet from the wall, and fastening it securely upon the two wires, sent it sliding down to where Jimmieboy stood. ”There,” he added, as it reached the end of the wire. ”Step on that; I'll turn on the electricity, and up you'll come.”

”I won't fall, will I?” asked Jimmieboy, timidly.

”That depends on the way you feel,” the Imp answered. ”If you feel safe, you are safe. Do you feel safe?”

”Not very,” said Jimmieboy, as he stepped aboard the magnetic elevator.

”Then we'll have to wait until you do,” returned the Imp, impatiently.

”It seems to me that a boy who has spent weeks and weeks and weeks jumping off plush sofas onto waxed hard-wood floors ought to be less timid than you are.”

”That's true,” said Jimmieboy. ”I guess I feel safe.”

”All aboard, then,” said the Imp, pressing a small b.u.t.ton at the back of his room.