Before long others followed and were used to such an effect that at the
end of the year, by a careful manipulation of his resources, carefully
husbanding the possibilities of that original third wish, Wilbraham
found that he had expressed and had had gratified over ten thousand
wishes, all of such a nature that the one-time decrepit farm had now
become one of the handsomest estates in the country. A chateau stood on
the site of the old mansion. Where the barns had been in danger of
falling of their own weight were now to be found rows of well-stocked
cattle-houses and dairies of splendor. The decaying stables had become
garages of unusual magnificence, wherein cars of all horsepowers and
models panted, eager to be chugging over the roads of Diggville, which
by a single wish expressed by Wilbraham had become wondrously paved
boulevards. And in the chicken-yards that had taken the place of the
discouraging coops of other days thousands of hens laid their daily
quota of prosperity for their owner in the plush-upholstered nests
provided for their comfort by Wilbraham, the egg king, for that was what
he had now become. In all parts of the world his fame was heralded, and
hosts of sight-seers came daily to see the wonderful acres of this
lordly master of the world's egg supply. And, best of all, there was
still a balance of forty-three hundred and eighty-seven wishes to his
credit!
The leading financiers of the world now began to take notice of this new
figure in the realm of effort, for they soon found their most treasured
and surest schemes going awry in a most unaccountable manner. No matter
how much they tried to depress or to stimulate the market, some new and
strange factor seemed to be at work bringing their calculations to
naught, and when it became known to them that the mere expression of a
wish on the part of Wilbraham would send stocks kiting into the air or
crashing into the depths, no matter what they might do, they began to
worry.
"To-morrow," said John W. Midas, as he talked to Wilbraham and his
friends one evening at the club, "International Gold Brick Common will
fall off thirty-seven points."
"Not so, Colonel," Wilbraham had retorted. "It will rise seventy
points."
"Oh, it will, will it? How do you know that?" demanded Midas.
"Because I wish it," said Wilbraham.
And on the morrow International Gold Brick, opening at 96-5/8, lo and
behold! closed at 166-5/8, and the friends of Midas who had laughed at
Wilbraham and sold short went to the wall. A half-dozen experiences of a
similar nature showed the former rulers of the financial world that
Wilbraham had now become a force to be reckoned with, and for their own
protection the more eminent among them called a meeting at the home of
Mr. Andrew Rockernegie to consider the situation. There was too much
power in the hands of one man, they thought, although that idea had
never occurred to any of them before. The result of the meeting was that
Colonel Midas was appointed a committee of one to call upon Wilbraham
and see what could be done.
"You may not be aware of it, Mr. Wilbraham," said the Colonel, "but by
your occasional intrusions into our lines of work you are making finance
an inexact science. Now, what will you take to keep your hands off the
market altogether? Twenty millions?"
Wilbraham laughed.
"Really, Colonel Midas," he replied, "I had no idea that you ever did
business on a corner-grocery basis like that. You ought to run a vacuum
cleaner over your brow. I think there are cobwebs in your gray matter.
Why, my dear sir, I can capitalize this gift of mine at a billion, and
pay ten per cent. on every dollar of it every year, with a little melon
to be cut up annually by the stock-holders of one hundred and fifty per
cent. per annum. Why, then, should I sell out at twenty millions?"
"Oh, I suppose you can have the earth if you want it," retorted Midas,
ruefully. "But all the same--"
"No, I don't want the earth," said Wilbraham. "If I had wanted it I
should have had it long ago. I'd only have to pay taxes on it, and it
would be a nuisance looking after the property."
"On what basis will you sell out?" demanded Midas.
"Well, we might incorporate my gift," said Wilbraham. "What would you
say to a United States Wish Syndicate, formed to produce and sell wishes
to the public by the can--POTTED WISHES: ONE HUNDRED NON-CUMULATIVE
WISHES FOR A DOLLAR. Eh?"
Midas paced the floor in his enthusiasm.
"Magnificent!" he cried. "We'll underwrite the whole thing in my
office--bonds, stock, both common and preferred--for say--ahem!--how
much did you say?"
"Oh, I guess I can pull along on a billion," said Wilbraham. "Cash."
Midas scratched his head. A glitter came into his eye.
"You wish to give up control of your gift?" he asked.
"You are a clever man, Colonel Midas," grinned Wilbraham. "If I had said
'yes' to that question I'd have lost my power. But I'm too old a bird to
be caught that way. You go ahead and form your company, and sell your
securities to the public at par, pay me my billion, and I'll transfer
the business to you, C. O. D."
"Done!" said Midas, and he returned to his fellow-captains on the
Street.
Wilbraham was felicitating himself upon a wondrously good stroke of
business, when another caller entered his room, this time unannounced.
"How do you do, Mr. Wilbraham?" said the stranger, as he mysteriously
materialized before Wilbraham's desk.
"How are you?" said Wilbraham. "Your face is familiar to me, but I can't
just recall where I have met you."
"My name is Oberon, sir," said the stranger, "I am the secretary of the
United States Fairy Company. There is a little trouble over your
account, and I have called to see if we can't--"
Wilbraham's heart sank within him.
"It--it isn't overdrawn, is it?" he whispered, hoarsely.
"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-cumulative. 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 furbishing 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 embarrass 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 Washington 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, title, 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."
"And here it is," said her husband, taking five crisp
one-thousand-dollar bills from his vest pocket and handing them to her.
"And here are seven brand-new ones besides. The fairies are true to
their bargain."
[Illustration: WILBRAHAM PAID BEFORE LEAVING THE COURT-ROOM]
And they lived affluently forever afterward, although Midas and his
confreres did sue Wilbraham for a hundred million dollars for breach of
contract, securing judgment for twenty-nine million dollars, the which
Wilbraham paid before leaving the court-room, departing therefrom with
a balance of one five and two one dollar bills to the good.
And that is why, my dear children, when you see the Wilbraham motor
chugging along the highway, if you look closely you will see painted on
the door of the car a simple crest, a poached egg _dormant_ upon a piece
of toast _couchant_, and underneath it, in golden letters on a scroll,
the family motto, _Hic semper septimus_.