"Come now, Dobber mah boy, wouldn't you find your higher calling in some of this, an egg that evaporates, a domino that changes spots....why I sold over twenty of these kits last week in Roanoke due purely to the miraculous appeal of the water-into-wine trick alone." "Owny Jesus kin change water inter wine," Dob offered, screwing up his face at the fancy paper his thumb was smearing with bear grease. He'd always been interested in such things though. It was sorely tempting as the drummer bandied items from the sample kit. "You are quick as a trout, dear Dobber, but this is magic we talkin about boy, magic, see? Yes indeedy dooo. And this Master Loki, he's about the best there is, him bein plumb famous on the subject. Maybe not to you or me, but throughout Asia and the Europeen societies he is widely revered, and that's purely resulting from his invention of the Magic Snuff Box I now hold before you." "Gawww," said Dobber, reaching for the snuff box's lid, "howzit work?" "That I couldn't tell you," sputtered the drummer, whisking it away. "Having failed to read the enclosed pamphlet or Master Loki's Wizard Manual, I am wholly ignorant of the process by which these fine illusions are achieved. But I assure you, they'll perform splendidly or else the Fourteen Day Good-As-Gold Guarantee will relieve your investment..." "Whudzat mean?" "You get your money back." "Daaaawg-dang. Don't sound too bad. Ain't got but a nickel two penny though." Willy Jay snickered behind him. Dob jerked his eye as Willy returned to buffing his brass register, dead serious. Everything was okay. Willy Jay was his friend and wouldn't make him the goat. Just about then, Dob realized the boys by the stove hadn't stopped their snickering at all, if anything, their chortles got sloppier. Nursy Jane shushed the boys, slitting her eyes at them over a shelf of liniment. "Well sir, Dobber, I can see your problem. Course, you could start up now on my weekly payment plan, two bits a week and this treasure trove would be yours in time for St. Nick..." "It looks awful special, but..." Dob wanted the powers that waited for him in Master Loki's kit, and maybe he could get the money from Toodlem's baby jar, but his neck reddened as the boys tittered, whispering and wagging at him. Yes, he was their goat. Dob's eyes rolled towards them, then back. "Butta...butta..." He hated to miss his one chance at earthly glory; the Lord couldn't begrudge him a little peekaboo at the mysteries of life, at His Glorious Creation. But they did. His begrudgers. As if they ever fretted about the reaping. They had always made him the goat. "...butta...I don't believe I oughter, thank ye, no, don't believe I oughter." "A crying shame, but your wife," Fritzy the drummer added, "Dobber, I hope your wife took favorably to the rosebud toilet water I sold her last spring..." Toilet water? Dob didn't know that Toodlem had fancied any toilet waters, muchless bought them, but he fibbed and said she had fancied hers well enough. Dob was already begging salvation for his teeny white lie, one of the constant prayers he kept going in his head, as he shuffled out the door. When the screen slammed he heard Charly Boyett say abberkadabber and alakazam. What's that, asked one of the Van Smittle twins and Charly said he had just made dopey Dobber disappear. Dob could still hear their rowdy gee-haws as he rode the red heifer around the Livery and started up Pearlwick Road. What did he care about reapermeat? He didn't care a whit.
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