American Fairy Tales / Американские волшебные сказки. Книга для чтения на английском языке. Лаймен Фрэнк Баум

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      “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[15].”

      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, hardworking and homely of feature, was a man of ideas[16]. 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 shoes 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[17]?”

      “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 tomorrow 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[18]. 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.

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