I had seen the Magic Shop from afar several times; I had passed it once or twice, a shop window of magic balls, magic hens, wonderful cones, ventriloquist dolls, packs of cards that looked all right, and all that sort of thing, but never had I thought of going in until one day, almost without warning, Gip hauled me by my finger right up to the window, and so conducted himself that there was nothing for it but to take him in.

It was a little, narrow shop, not very well lit, and the door bell pinged again with a plaintive note as we closed it behind us. For a moment or so we were alone and could glance about us. There was a tiger in papiermache on the glass case that covered the low counter— a grave, kind-eyed tiger that waggled his head in a methodical manner; there were several crystal spheres, a china hand holding magic cards, a stock of magic fishbowls in various sizes, and an immodest magic hat that shamelessly displayed its springs. On the floor were magic mirrors; one to draw you out long and thin, one to swell your head and vanish your legs, and one to make you short and fat like a draught; and while we were laughing at these the shopman, as I suppose, came in.

At any rate, there he was behind the counter—a curious, sallow, dark man, with one ear larger than the other and a chin like the toe-cap of a boot.

‘What can we have the pleasure?’ he said, spreading his long magic fingers on the glass case; and so with a start we were aware of him.

‘ I want,’ I said, ‘to buy my little boy a few simple tricks.’

‘Um!’ said the shopman, and scratched his head for a moment as if thinking. Then, quite distinctly, he drew from his head a glass ball. ‘Something in this way?’ he said and held it out.

The action was unexpected. I had seen the trick done at entertainments endless times before—it's part of the common stock of conjurers—but I had not expected it here. ‘That's good,’ I said, with a laugh.