“You say you can’t read,” Albert muttered. “And this note makes it obvious.” He handed the parchment back to George, who replaced it tenderly beneath his filthy robes.
“There’d be only one thing I need badly,” Albert mused. “That would be money, since I’m somewhat short now. However, that isn’t up your alley.
The best favor you could do me,” he went on, voice louder, “is to beat it, vanish, scram, like a nice fellow.”
Albert’s voice was pleading in its last notes, coaxing. “I’ve got enough to straighten out, without you around. Now won’t you go away, like a good fellow, for good?”
George suddenly stopped looking worried, snapped his fingers as if recalling something.
“I’ll betcha yuh don’t know it,” he said exultantly.
“Know what?” Albert frowned.
“The command what makes me go away fer good, instead of on errands fer yuh,” George said, now completely happy. “I’ll betcha don’t know it!”
“What is it?” Albert felt horribly like a man upon whom a trap has fallen. “What’s the command?”
George grew coy.
“I don’t know, honest.” He gulped. “But I’m glad I don’t know, ’cause now I kin woik fer yuh, huh?”
“Oh Lord,” Albert groaned, knees suddenly weak.
There was a “pop” like the white flash of a photo bulb exploding. George was suddenly gone. Another “pop” and George was back. Albert blinked bewilderedly, frightenedly.
“Here, whatcha wanted. What I overheard yuh mention,” George said ingratiatingly. And Albert was astonished to see a handful of green currency in the genie’s paw!
Albert gulped. Money was money. Suddenly he felt that perhaps this wasn’t going to be quite so bad, that perhaps George would not be able to cause too much damage by staying around a bit. He took the bills.
“Well,” Albert muttered indecisively, “this makes things a bit different. Thanks, old man, I was a bit short. Maybe you don’t have to leave right away.” Then, looking at his watch, he suddenly wheeled. “Almost late for luncheon,” he gasped. “Have to hurry. Try to be of some use around here while I’m gone. Get some wood for the fireplace. Be sort of a handy man, will you? We’ll talk things over when I come back. But mind you, don’t go running loose around here!”
Then, turning, Albert hastily stepped out of the room. Once again his mental adjustment gears were stripping themselves to mesh in with this new light in which he now viewed George, the genie. And, as usual, the adaptation was working with brisk smoothness.
It was just as well for Albert’s new state of mind in regard to George, that he didn’t see the hulking genie turn and gaze thoughtfully around the room after the door closed. For George’s gaze was fixed most strongly on the barren fireplace and the empty wood box beside it.
Chapter III
George Goes to Work
It was with mingled feelings that Albert Addin entered the oak-ceilinged dining room of Mastiff Manor. He was still pondering the amazing antics of George, the genie, who had popped into his existence so unceremoniously. His common sense bade him to accept such blessings without quibbling as to their source, but something else, possibly a sixth sense, seemed to be trying to warn him of impending disaster. If that scroll were right — With a shrug of his well-tailored shoulders, he dismissed the matter altogether. Which was thoroughly typical. When anything bothered him to the extent that it made him think there was only one result, it was consigned to oblivion.
He slid into a chair to the right of Major Mastiff, conscious that he was late for luncheon by several minutes. The major was breathing heavily, which Albert knew, was a very bad sign.
“Terribly sorry,” Albert apologized charmingly, “but I lost all track of time while I was looking out the window at your beautiful estate. It’s absolutely remarkable, Major, the way you keep it up. Absolutely remarkable.”
The major sniffed, somewhat mollified, and Albert smiled happily at Margot. She smiled back, warmly and admiringly.
Aunt Annabelle cleared her throat decisively. Her long face was set sternly and her uncompromising eyes regarded him suspiciously.
“You spoke of a present,” she said in an unpleasantly business-like voice, “did you forget that too in your contemptation of nature’s wonders?” Albert swallowed suddenly. Hang it, he was in the soup now. He had utterly failed to realize that he simply couldn’t give Aunt Annabelle the lamp now. Something deeper than instinct told him that Aunt Annabelle and George would not get along.
“Ha, ha,” he laughed weakly, “joking, always joking, aren’t you, Auntie, old bean?”
Aunt Annabelle set her lips in distaste. “Don’t call me that,” she said frigidly, “and I wasn’t joking. I never joke.”
“That’s right,” Albert stalled desperately for time, “you don’t. Just the other day we were talking about jokes down at the club and I said that in my opinion you—”
“About the present,” Aunt Annabelle interrupted quietly but firmly, “you were saying?”
“Well you see,” Albert struggled on manfully, “I–I knew how you liked surprises so I–I decided to wait until this evening and, and really surprise you.”
“I detest surprises,” Aunt Annabelle said grimly.
“You’ll love this one, though,” Albert almost choked with the desperate heartiness he put into his voice.
Aunt Annabelle attacked her cutlet savagely and did not bother to reply. It was obvious, Albert thought gloomily, that the old girl still cherished her violent prejudice toward him.
Except for this, the first part of the meal rambled along smoothly enough. Albert was beginning to breathe easily by the time the lemon pudding was served, but before he could sink a spoon into the dessert, there was a loud cry from the hall, and the next instant a red-faced, overalled figure burst into the dining room.
Albert recognized him as Jeakes, the gardener, a quaint, highly-tempered old gentleman.
Jeakes puffed furiously for an instant, and then strode to Major Mastiff’s chair. His small blue eyes were protruding like marbles and his face was stained a dull vermillion from the top of his collar to the roots of his white hair.
“I queet,” he shouted suddenly, “I queet. I am through. Finished for good. Geeve me my money and I leave. I work here no more. “Ze new gardener he ees—”
“Now, now Jeakes,” Major Mastiff interrupted testily, “what’s the meaning of this? What’s all this nonsense about a new gardner?”
“Ze new gardener,” Jeakes cried in a shrill voice, “he is here already. I hope you are satisfied. Ze beeg baboon has destroyed ze Mastiff Oak. You hear? He has cut down the Mastiff Oak. I queet. I am through. Zat tree she ees like a baby to me and now she is gone.”
Major Mastiff’s face had drained of all color as Jeakes spoke. His large puffy body began to quiver.
“Jeakes,” he cried hoarsely, “y — you’ve been drinking. You must be. The Mastiff Oak it — it—” Major Mastiff’s voice trailed away to an inaudible whisper. His breath came faster as he rose unsteadily from his chair. He turned, almost automatically, and moved heavily toward the door.
“I’ll see,” he muttered, “I’ll see.” Albert winced. He knew the danger signals. He could tell from the angry red that circled the major’s neck that the great-grand-daddy of all Mastiff temper storms was brewing.
But Albert knew that his skirts were clear. He knew that he would not be the victim of the latest Mastiff upheaval, so he relaxed comfortably, almost happy in the realization that some other poor chump was in for it this time. There were few things dearer to the major’s rock-like heart than his beautiful shade tree, Mastiff Oak. If someone had been idiotic enough to have it chopped down, that someone would regard being boiled in oil as a light penance after the major got through with him.