An accomplished wizard once lived on the top floor of
a tenement house and passed his time in thoughtful study and studious thought.
What he didn't know about wizardry was hardly worth knowing, for he possessed
all the books and recipes of all the wizards who had lived before him; and,
moreover, he had invented several wizardments himself.
This admirable person would have been completely happy
but for the numerous interruptions to his studies caused by folk who came to
consult him about their troubles (in which he was not interested), and by the
loud knocks of the iceman, the milkman, the baker's boy, the laundryman and the
peanut woman. He never dealt with any of these people; but they rapped at his
door every day to see him about this or that or to try to sell him their wares.
Just when he was most deeply interested in his books or engaged in watching the
bubbling of a cauldron there would come a knock at his door. And after sending
the intruder away he always found he had lost his train of thought or ruined
his compound.
At length these interruptions aroused his anger, and
he decided he must have a dog to keep people away from his door. He didn't know
where to find a dog, but in the next room lived a poor glass-blower with whom
he had a slight acquaintance; so he went into the man's apartment and asked:
"Where can I find a dog?"
"What sort of a dog?" inquired the
glass-blower.
"A good dog. One that will bark at people and
drive them away. One that will be no trouble to keep and won't expect to be
fed. One that has no fleas and is neat in his habits. One that will obey me
when I speak to him. In short, a good dog," said the wizard.
"Such a dog is hard to find," returned the
glass-blower, who was busy making a blue glass flower pot with a pink glass
rosebush in it, having green glass leaves and yellow glass roses.
The wizard watched him thoughtfully.
"Why cannot you blow me a dog out of glass?"
he asked, presently.
"I can," declared the glass-blower;
"but it would not bark at people, you know."
"Oh, I'll fix that easily enough," replied
the other. "If I could not make a glass dog bark I would be a mighty poor
wizard."
"Very well; if you can use a glass dog I'll be
pleased to blow one for you. Only, you must pay for my work."
"Certainly," agreed the wizard. "But I
have none of that horrid stuff you call money. You must take some of my wares
in exchange."
The glass-blower considered the matter for a moment.
"Could you give me something to cure my
rheumatism?" he asked.
"Oh, yes; easily."
"Then it's a bargain. I'll start the dog at once.
What color of glass shall I use?"
"Pink is a pretty color," said the wizard,
"and it's unusual for a dog, isn't it?"
"Very," answered the glass-blower; "but
it shall be pink."
So the wizard went back to his studies and the
glass-blower began to make the dog.
Next morning he entered the wizard's room with the
glass dog under his arm and set it carefully upon the table. It was a beautiful
pink in color, with a fine coat of spun glass, and about its neck was twisted a
blue glass ribbon. Its eyes were specks of black glass and sparkled
intelligently, as do many of the glass eyes worn by men.
The wizard expressed himself pleased with the
glass-blower's skill and at once handed him a small vial.
"This will cure your rheumatism," he said.
"But the vial is empty!" protested the
glass-blower.
"Oh, no; there is one drop of liquid in it,"
was the wizard's reply.
"Will one drop cure my rheumatism?" inquired
the glass-blower, in wonder.
"Most certainly. That is a marvelous remedy. The
one drop contained in the vial will cure instantly any kind of disease ever
known to humanity. Therefore it is especially good for rheumatism. But guard it
well, for it is the only drop of its kind in the world, and I've forgotten the
recipe."
"Thank you," said the glass-blower, and went
back to his room.
Then the wizard cast a wizzy spell and mumbled several
very learned words in the wizardese language over the glass dog. Whereupon the
little animal first wagged its tail from side to side, then winked his left eye
knowingly, and at last began barking in a most frightful manner--that is, when
you stop to consider the noise came from a pink glass dog. There is something
almost astonishing in the magic arts of wizards; unless, of course, you know
how to do the things yourself, when you are not expected to be surprised at
them.
The wizard was as delighted as a school teacher at the
success of his spell, although he was not astonished. Immediately he placed the
dog outside his door, where it would bark at anyone who dared knock and so
disturb the studies of its master.
The glass-blower, on returning to his room, decided
not to use the one drop of wizard cure-all just then.
"My rheumatism is better to-day," he
reflected, "and I will be wise to save the medicine for a time when I am
very ill, when it will be of more service to me."
So he placed the vial in his cupboard and went to work
blowing more roses out of glass. Presently he happened to think the medicine
might not keep, so he started to ask the wizard about it. But when he reached
the door the glass dog barked so fiercely that he dared not knock, and returned
in great haste to his own room. Indeed, the poor man was quite upset at so
unfriendly a reception from the dog he had himself so carefully and skillfully
made.
The next morning, as he read his newspaper, he noticed
an article stating that the beautiful Miss Mydas, the richest young lady in
town, was very ill, and the doctors had given up hope of her recovery.
The glass-blower, although miserably poor,
hard-working and homely of feature, was a man of ideas. He suddenly recollected
his precious medicine, and determined to use it to better advantage than
relieving his own ills. He dressed himself in his best clothes, brushed his
hair and combed his whiskers, washed his hands and tied his necktie, blackened
his hoes and sponged his vest, and then put the vial of magic cure-all in his
pocket. Next he locked his door, went downstairs and walked through the streets
to the grand mansion where the wealthy Miss Mydas resided.
The butler opened the door and said:
"No soap, no chromos, no vegetables, no hair oil,
no books, no baking powder. My young lady is dying and we're well supplied for
the funeral."
The glass-blower was grieved at being taken for a
peddler.
"My friend," he began, proudly; but the
butler interrupted him, saying:
"No tombstones, either; there's a family
graveyard and the monument's built."
"The graveyard won't be needed if you will permit
me to speak," said the glass-blower.
"No doctors, sir; they've given up my young lady,
and she's given up the doctors," continued the butler, calmly.
"I'm no doctor," returned the glass-blower.
"Nor are the others. But what is your
errand?"
"I called to cure your young lady by means of a
magical compound."
"Step in, please, and take a seat in the hall.
I'll speak to the housekeeper," said the butler, more politely.
So he spoke to the housekeeper and the housekeeper
mentioned the matter to the steward and the steward consulted the chef and the
chef kissed the lady's maid and sent her to see the stranger. Thus are the very
wealthy hedged around with ceremony, even when dying.
When the lady's maid heard from the glass-blower that
he had a medicine which would cure her mistress, she said:
"I'm glad you came."
"But," said he, "if I restore your
mistress to health she must marry me."
"I'll make inquiries and see if she's
willing," answered the maid, and went at once to consult Miss Mydas.
The young lady did not hesitate an instant.
"I'd marry any old thing rather than die!"
she cried. "Bring him here at once!"
So the glass-blower came, poured the magic drop into a
little water, gave it to the patient, and the next minute Miss Mydas was as
well as she had ever been in her life.
"Dear me!" she exclaimed; "I've an
engagement at the Fritters' reception to-night. Bring my pearl-colored silk,
Marie, and I will begin my toilet at once. And don't forget to cancel the order
for the funeral flowers and your mourning gown."
"But, Miss Mydas," remonstrated the
glass-blower, who stood by, "you promised to marry me if I cured
you."
"I know," said the young lady, "but we
must have time to make proper announcement in the society papers and have the
wedding cards engraved. Call to-morrow and we'll talk it over."
The glass-blower had not impressed her favorably as a
husband, and she was glad to find an excuse for getting rid of him for a time.
And she did not want to miss the Fritters' reception.
Yet the man went home filled with joy; for he thought
his stratagem had succeeded and he was about to marry a rich wife who would
keep him in luxury forever afterward.
The first thing he did on reaching his room was to
smash his glass-blowing tools and throw them out of the window.
He then sat down to figure out ways of spending his
wife's money.
The following day he called upon Miss Mydas, who was
reading a novel and eating chocolate creams as happily as if she had never been
ill in her life.
"Where did you get the magic compound that cured
me?" she asked.
"From a learned wizard," said he; and then,
thinking it would interest her, he told how he had made the glass dog for the
wizard, and how it barked and kept everybody from bothering him.
"How delightful!" she said. "I've
always wanted a glass dog that could bark."
"But there is only one in the world," he
answered, "and it belongs to the wizard."
"You must buy it for me," said the lady.
"The wizard cares nothing for money,"
replied the glass-blower.
"Then you must steal it for me," she
retorted. "I can never live happily another day unless I have a glass dog
that can bark."
The glass-blower was much distressed at this, but said
he would see what he could do. For a man should always try to please his wife,
and Miss Mydas has promised to marry him within a week.
On his way home he purchased a heavy sack, and when he
passed the wizard's door and the pink glass dog ran out to bark at him he threw
the sack over the dog, tied the opening with a piece of twine, and carried him
away to his own room.
The next day he sent the sack by a messenger boy to
Miss Mydas, with his compliments, and later in the afternoon he called upon her
in person, feeling quite sure he would be received with gratitude for stealing
the dog she so greatly desired.
But when he came to the door and the butler opened it,
what was his amazement to see the glass dog rush out and begin barking at him
furiously.
"Call off your dog," he shouted, in terror.
"I can't, sir," answered the butler.
"My young lady has ordered the glass dog to bark whenever you call here.
You'd better look out, sir," he added, "for if it bites you, you may
have glassophobia!"
This so frightened the poor glass-blower that he went
away hurriedly. But he stopped at a drug store and put his last dime in the
telephone box so he could talk to Miss Mydas without being bitten by the dog.
"Give me Pelf 6742!" he called.
"Hello! What is it?" said a voice.
"I want to speak with Miss Mydas," said the
glass-blower.
Presently a sweet voice said: "This is Miss
Mydas. What is it?"
"Why have you treated me so cruelly and set the
glass dog on me?" asked the poor fellow.
"Well, to tell the truth," said the lady,
"I don't like your looks. Your cheeks are pale and baggy, your hair is
coarse and long, your eyes are small and red, your hands are big and rough, and
you are bow-legged."
"But I can't help my looks!" pleaded the
glass-blower; "and you really promised to marry me."
"If you were better looking I'd keep my
promise," she returned. "But under the circumstances you are no fit
mate for me, and unless you keep away from my mansion I shall set my glass dog
on you!" Then she dropped the 'phone and would have nothing more to say.
The miserable glass-blower went home with a heart
bursting with disappointment and began tying a rope to the bedpost by which to
hang himself.
Some one knocked at the door, and, upon opening it, he
saw the wizard.
"I've lost my dog," he announced.
"Have you, indeed?" replied the glass-blower
tying a knot in the rope.
"Yes; some one has stolen him."
"That's too bad," declared the glass-blower,
indifferently.
"You must make me another," said the wizard.
"But I cannot; I've thrown away my tools."
"Then what shall I do?" asked the wizard.
"I do not know, unless you offer a reward for the
dog."
"But I have no money," said the wizard.
"Offer some of your compounds, then,"
suggested the glass-blower, who was making a noose in the rope for his head to
go through.
"The only thing I can spare," replied the
wizard, thoughtfully, "is a Beauty Powder."
"What!" cried the glass-blower, throwing
down the rope, "have you really such a thing?"
"Yes, indeed. Whoever takes the powder will
become the most beautiful person in the world."
"If you will offer that as a reward," said
the glass-blower, eagerly, "I'll try to find the dog for you, for above
everything else I long to be beautiful."
"But I warn you the beauty will only be skin
deep," said the wizard.
"That's all right," replied the happy
glass-blower; "when I lose my skin I shan't care to remain
beautiful."
"Then tell me where to find my dog and you shall
have the powder," promised the wizard.
So the glass-blower went out and pretended to search,
and by-and-by he returned and said:
"I've discovered the dog. You will find him in
the mansion of Miss Mydas."
The wizard went at once to see if this were true, and,
sure enough, the glass dog ran out and began barking at him. Then the wizard
spread out his hands and chanted a magic spell which sent the dog fast asleep,
when he picked him up and carried him to his own room on the top floor of the
tenement house.
Afterward he carried the Beauty Powder to the glass-blower
as a reward, and the fellow immediately swallowed it and became the most
beautiful man in the world.
The next time he called upon Miss Mydas there was no
dog to bark at him, and when the young lady saw him she fell in love with his
beauty at once.
"If only you were a count or a prince," she
sighed, "I'd willingly marry you."
"But I am a prince," he answered; "the
Prince of Dogblowers."
"Ah!" said she; "then if you are
willing to accept an allowance of four dollars a week I'll order the wedding
cards engraved."
The man hesitated, but when he thought of the rope
hanging from his bedpost he consented to the terms.
So they were married, and the bride was very jealous
of her husband's beauty and led him a dog's life. So he managed to get into
debt and made her miserable in turn.
* * * * *
As for the glass dog, the wizard set him barking again
by means of his wizardness and put him outside his door. I suppose he is there
yet, and am rather sorry, for I should like to consult the wizard about the
moral to this story.