Just for a little while. Do let me out. I’ll do anything. Please. . . .”

Frank looked at the old man. “He’s there, all right,” he said “He’s there.”

“Of course, he’s there,” said the old man. “I wouldn’t sell you an empty bottle. What do you take me for? In fact, I wouldn’t sell this one at all, for sentimental reasons, only I’ve had the shop a good many years now, and you’re my first customer.”

Frank put his ear to the bottle again. “Let me out. Let me out. Oh, please let me out. I’ll. . . .”

“My God!” said Frank uneasily. “Does he go on like that all the time?”

“Very probably,” said the old man. “I can’t say I listen. I prefer the radio.”

“It seems rather tough on him,” said Frank sympathetically.

“Maybe,” said the old man. “They don’t seem to like bottles. Personally, I do. They fascinate me. For example, I….”

“Tell me,” said Frank. “Is he really harmless?”

“Oh, yes,” said the old man. “Bless you, yes. Some say they’re tricky — Eastern blood and all that — I never found him so. I used to let him out; he’d do his stuff, then back he’d go again. I must say, he’s very efficient.”

“He could get me anything?”

“Absolutely anything.”

“And how much do you want for him?” said Frank.

“Oh, I don’t know,” said the old man. “Ten million dollars, perhaps.”

“I say! I haven’t got that.