I
“I wish,” murmured Tommy Piper, “they’d let _me_ play!”
It was a chill, cloudy November afternoon, and Tommy, sprawled in the
big armchair in front of the library fire, was very unhappy. Things
hadn’t gone well to-day at school, where the teachers had been horribly
unjust to him, nor at home, where he had been scolded for arriving
late for dinner; Billy Blue, his most particular chum, was confined to
the house with double mumps, and, to add to the burden of his woes,
or to remind him of the principal one, half a dozen fellows, togged
and sweatered, carrying a battle-scarred football and dangling their
head guards, had just passed the window on their way to the field to
practice for the final and all-important game of the year, that with
Meadowville.
Usually Tommy went along, envious but interested, to watch the luckier
boys at work, but to-day he was at outs with the world. What was most
awfully wrong was that George Marquis, captain of the Hillside eleven,
refused to perceive in Tommy the qualities desired in a member of that
gallant band of gridiron warriors. George said that Tommy was much too
light for either line or backfield, while grudgingly acknowledging
that he _could_ kick and _was_ fast on his toes. Consequently, Tommy,
who all summer long had looked forward almost breathlessly to securing
a position at the end of the line or as a back, had been――and still
was――horribly disappointed. Of course he realized that he was pretty
light――he was only thirteen, you see, and by no means large for his
age――but he was quite convinced that he was clever enough at punting
and drop-kicking and carrying the ball to atone for his lack of weight.
But Captain Marquis didn’t think so, and Tommy was out of it for
another year at least.
He had been trying to read a story that was all about school life and
football, but he didn’t want his fun at second-hand to-day. He wanted
to make history himself! The book toppled unnoticed to the hearth
rug and Tommy went off into a wonderful daydream, his round eyes
fixed entrancedly on the glowing coals in the grate. He saw himself
playing right halfback for Hillside in the Thanksgiving Day game with
Meadowville, making sensational rushes, kicking marvelous goals from
the field, cheered and applauded, a veritable football hero if ever
there was one! When, after an hour of desperate battle, Hillside had
conquered, and Tommy, on the shoulders of admiring comrades, was being
carried from the field, he woke from his daydream with a sigh.
“I wish,” he said longingly, addressing no one in particular, since
there was no one there, but gazing very intently at the gloomy corner
of the room where lounge and bookcase met and formed a cavern of
shadow, “I wish I could do all that! Gee, but I do wish I could!”
“Well,” said a small, gruff voice that made Tommy sit up suddenly very
straight and surprised in his chair, “you were long enough about it!”
From the dark corner there emerged into the fire light the most
astonishing person Tommy had ever seen or dreamed of. He was scarcely
higher than the boy’s knee and he was lamentably thin; and his head
was quite out of proportion to any other part of him. But the queerest
thing of all was his face, which was just as round as――as, well, as
a basket ball and very much the same color. From the middle of it
protruded a long and very pointed nose. His eyes were small and sharp
and bright and his mouth was thin and reached almost from one perfectly
huge ear to the other. He was dressed in rusty black, with pointed
shoes that were ridiculously like his nose, and a sugar-loaf cap, from
which dangled dejectedly a long green feather. And under one pipestem
of an arm, clutched with long brown fingers, was a football almost as
large as he was!
Tommy stared and stared and thought he must be dreaming. But the
strange visitor quickly put that notion out of his head.
“Well! Well!” he said crossly. “Can’t you speak?”
“Y-yes, sir,” stammered Tommy. “But――I――I don’t think I heard wh-what
you said!”
“Yes, you did! You didn’t understand. Boys are all stupid. I said you
were long enough about it.”
The visitor advanced to the hearth and took up his position on the rug,
his back to the fire and his beady eyes blinking sharply at the boy.
“About――about what?” asked Tommy apologetically.
“About wishing, of course! Don’t you know fairies can’t grant a wish
until it has been made three times? You wished once and then you kept
me waiting. I don’t like to be kept waiting. I’m a very busy person.
Nowadays, with everyone wishing for all sorts of silly things that they
don’t need and oughtn’t to have, a fairy’s life isn’t worth living.”
“I’m very sorry,” murmured Tommy apologetically. “I――I didn’t know you
were there.”
“‘Didn’t know! Didn’t know!’ That’s what every stupid person says.
You should have known. If you didn’t expect me why did you wish three
times?”
“Why, I――I don’t know,” said Tommy. “I was just――just wishing.”
“Oh, then maybe you don’t want your wish?” asked the other eagerly. “If
that’s it, just say so. Don’t waste my time. I’ve an appointment in
Meadowville in――in――――” He took off his funny sugar-loaf hat, rested
the end of the feather on the bridge of his long nose and spun the cap
around. “One――two――three――four――――” The cap stopped spinning and he
replaced it on his head. “In four minutes,” he ended sternly.
“Th-that’s a funny way to tell time,” said Tommy.
“I never tell time,” replied the stranger shortly. “Time tells me. Now,
then, what do you say?”
“Th-thank you,” said Tommy hurriedly, remembering his manners.
“No, no, no, no, no, no!” exclaimed the other exasperatedly. “What
about your wish? Do you or isn’t it?”
“Why――why, if it isn’t too much trouble,” stammered Tommy, “I’d like to
have it very, very much.”
“Of course it’s trouble,” said the fairy sharply. “Don’t be any
stupider than you have to be. But everything’s trouble; my life is full
of trouble; that’s what comes of being a D. A.”
“If you please,” asked Tommy politely, “what does D. A. mean?”
“Director of Athletics, of course. It couldn’t mean anything else,
could it? Really, you do ask more silly questions! Now then, now then,
look alive!”
“Yes, sir, but――but how?” asked Tommy anxiously.
“Repeat the incan., of course.”
“The――the incan――――?”
“Tation! Don’t tell me you don’t know it!” The fairy was almost tearful
and Tommy naturally felt awfully ashamed of his ignorance. But he had
to acknowledge that he didn’t, and, casting his eyes toward the ceiling
in protest, the fairy rattled off the following so rapidly that it was
all Tommy could do to follow him:
“I wish this once,
I wish this twice!
Grant me the wish
That I wish thrice!”
“Repeat, if you please!” said the fairy. Tommy did so, stumblingly.
The fairy grunted. “Stupid!” he muttered. “Didn’t know the incan. What
are we coming to? What are we coming to? In the old days boys didn’t
have to be told such things. Modern education――puh!” And the fairy
fairly glared at Tommy.
“I’m awfully sorry, Mr. Fairy,” he said.
“Hm, at least you have manners,” said the fairy, his ill temper
vanishing. “Well, here it is.” He tapped the football he held with the
claw-like fingers of his other hand.
“But――but I didn’t wish for a football,” faltered Tommy disappointedly.
“Of course you didn’t! Who said you did? You wished you might play in
Thursday’s football game and be a hero and win the game for your team,
didn’t you? Or, if you didn’t, how much? Or, other things being as
stated, when?”
“Yes, sir, I did! And could I――could you really give me my wish?”
“Drat the boy! What am I here for? Wasting my time! Wasting my time!
Fiddledunk!”
“I beg your pardon?”
“I said fiddledunk. I always say fiddledunk when angry. What do you
say?”
“I say――I say――――” Tommy had the grace to blush.
“I know!” exclaimed the fairy triumphantly. “You say jerriwhizzum! You
shouldn’t! It’s almost swearing! You’re a very bad boy, and I don’t
know that you ought to have your wish!”
“But I don’t!” gasped Tommy. “I never said jerriwhizzum in my life.”
“You just said it! Don’t tell me! Don’t tell me! Guilty or not guilty?
Guilty! Remove the prisoner!” And the fairy grinned gleefully and
maliciously at Tommy.
“But――but I meant I never said it before, sir!”
“Why don’t you say what you mean?” demanded the other evidently
disappointed. “Are you or for what purpose did you not? Answer yes or
no immediately. No answer. Discharged! Now then, what do you say?”
“Thank you very much,” said Tommy promptly. The fairy smiled.
“Not at all! Not at all! Glad to be of service. You have excellent
manners――for a boy. Perhaps in time you’ll get over being so stupid.
I did. I used to be awfully stupid. You wouldn’t believe it now, would
you?”
“Oh, no, indeed,” cried Tommy. The fairy actually beamed.
“I took a correspondence course, you see.”
“A correspondence course?” murmured Tommy questioningly.
“In Non-Stupidity. Try it.”
“Thank you, I――I might some time.”
“Time!” exclaimed the fairy, twirling his hat again on the
tip of the feather and counting the spins; “dear me! Dear me!
I’m――seven――eight――nine――nine minutes late! Did you ever? I really must
go, I really must. Here is the Magic Football――――”
“Oh, is it a magic football?” exclaimed Tommy in surprise.
“Of course it is! There you go again with your silly questions! Taking
up my time! Didn’t I just tell you that I was―――― How many minutes late
did I say?”
“Nine, I think.”
“‘You think’! You ought to know. Now I’ll have to do it again.” He spun
the hat and it stopped at six. “I thought you were wrong,” he said in
triumph. “You said it was nine! Stupid!”
Tommy thought it best not to argue with him. “What――what do I do with
the football?” he asked.
“Play with it, of course. Didn’t think it was to eat, did you?”
“N-no, but――――”
“This football will do everything you want it to. If you want it to
come to you, you say, ‘Come’; if you want it to go, you say――――”
“Go!” murmured Tommy.
“Not at all!” exclaimed the fairy testily. “I wish you wouldn’t jump to
conclusions. If you want it to go you say ‘Og!’”
“Og?” faltered Tommy.
“Of course. When the ball comes to you it comes forward. When it goes
away from you it must go backward. And ‘go,’ backward, is ‘og.’ I never
saw anyone so stupid!”
“Oh,” murmured the boy. “But suppose I kick the ball?”
“Say ‘Og.’ But you’d better not kick it very hard, because if you do it
might not like it. Magic footballs have very tender feelings.”
“But suppose I wanted to kick it a long, long distance?”
“Then say ‘Og’ several times. You’ll have to try it for yourself and
learn the ography of it. Now call it.”
“Come,” said Tommy doubtfully.
The next instant the football was rolling into the fireplace, having
jumped from the fairy’s arms, collided violently with Tommy’s nose and
bounced to the floor again.
“Save it!” shrieked the fairy, jumping excitedly about on the rug.
But Tommy’s eyes were full of tears, produced by the blow on his nose,
and by the time he had leaped to the rescue the ball was lodged between
grate and chimney and the fairy, still jumping and shrieking, was quite
beside himself with alarm. Tommy pulled the football out before it
had begun to scorch, however, and the fairy’s excitement subsided as
suddenly as it had begun.
“Stupid!” he said severely. “You almost made me ill. The odor of
burning leather always upsets me. It was most unfeeling of you.”
“But I didn’t know,” replied Tommy with spirit, rubbing his nose
gingerly, “it was going to come so hard!”
“You should have known. Seems to me, for a boy who goes to school, you
are very deficient in ography and comeology.”
“I never studied them. We don’t have them.”
The fairy sighed painfully. “What are we coming to? What are we coming
to? Never studied ography or comeology or non-stupidity! Oh dear! Oh
my!” His long, thin, pointed nose twitched up and down and sideways
under the stress of his emotion. “Well, well, there isn’t time to give
you a lesson now. You’ll have to do the best you can. I’m very late.
By the way, when you’re through with the football just say ‘Og!’ seven
times and it will come back to me. But be careful not to say it seven
times if you don’t want to lose it. Thank you for a very pleasant
evening.” The fairy made a ridiculous bow, hat in hand, and backed away
toward the dark corner of the room. Tommy started to remind him that it
wasn’t evening, but concluded that it would only offend him, and so he
didn’t. Instead,
“Thank you very much for the football,” he said. “Would you mind
telling me who it is you are going to call on in Meadowville?”
“The name is――the name is――――” The fairy lifted one foot and peered at
the sole of a pointed shoe. “The name is Frank Lester. Do you know him?”
“N-no, but I know who he is,” answered Tommy anxiously. “He’s captain
of the Meadowville Grammar School Football Team, and I’ll just bet he’s
going to wish they’ll win the game!”
The fairy frowned with annoyance. “I can’t have that,” he said, shaking
his head rapidly. “Besides, all the magic footballs are out. He will
have to wish for something else.”
“But――but suppose he doesn’t?”
“‘Suppose!’ ‘Suppose!’ I’d just like to know,” exclaimed the fairy,
“how many supposes you’ve supposed! You’re the most suppositionary boy
I ever did see!”
“But if he _did_ wish that,” pursued Tommy, “you’d have to give him his
wish, wouldn’t you?”
The fairy grinned slyly and put a long finger beside his nose. “If
wishes were fishes,” he said, “beggars would ride.”
“I――I don’t think that’s just the way it goes,” said Tommy.
“Then don’t ask me,” replied the other indignantly. “Besides, you have
kept me here until I am awfully late for my appointment. I must be――I
must be――――”
The fairy caught off his hat and began twirling it about on the tip of
the feather.
“One――two――three――――!” he began to count.
The hat twirled like a top and Tommy, watching it, felt his head swim
and his eyes grow heavy.
“Twelve――thirteen――fourteen――twenty-eight――――” came the voice of the
fairy as though from a long ways off. Tommy wanted to tell him that
twenty-eight didn’t follow fourteen, but he was too sleepy to speak.
“Thirty-three――thirty-six――thirty-two――fifteen――――”
It was just a whisper now, away off in the hazy distance....
Tommy sat up suddenly and stared. The fairy was gone. He rubbed
his eyes. After all, then, it was just a dream! But as he stirred
something rolled from his lap to the floor and went bouncing away under
the couch. It was the magic football.