Still, if he’s as good as you say, maybe I could work it off on the hire-purchase system.”

“Don’t worry. We’ll say five dollars, instead. I’ve got all I want, really. Shall I wrap him up for you?”

Frank paid over his five dollars and hurried home with the precious bottle, terrified of breaking it. As soon as he was in his room, he pulled out the stopper. Out flowed a prodigious quantity of greasy smoke, which immediately solidified into the figure of a gross and fleshy Oriental, six feet six in height, with rolls of fat, a hook nose, a wicked white to his eye, vast double chins, altogether like a film producer, only larger. Frank, striving desperately for something to say, ordered shashlik, kebabs, and Turkish delight. These were immediately forthcoming.

Frank, having recovered his balance, noted that these modest offerings were of surpassing quality and set upon dishes of solid gold, superbly engraved, and polished to a dazzling brightness. It is by little details of this description that one may recognize a really first-rate servant. Frank was delighted, but restrained his enthusiasm. “Gold plates,” said he, “are all very well. Let us, however, get down to brass tacks. I should like a palace.”

“To hear,” said his dusky henchman, “is to obey.”

“It should,” said Frank, “be of suitable size, suitably situated, suitably furnished, suitable pictures, suitable marbles, hangings, and all that. I should like there to be a large number of tiger-skins. I am very fond of tiger-skins.”

“They shall be there,” said his slave.

“I am,” said Frank, “a bit of an artist, as your late owner remarked. My art, so to speak, demands the presence, upon these tiger-skins, of a number of young women, some blonde, some brunette, some petites, some Junoesque, some languorous, some vivacious, all beautiful, and they need not be overdressed. I hate overdressing. It is vulgar. Have you got that?”

“I have,” said the jinn.

“Then,” said Frank, “let me have it.”

“Condescend only,” said his servant, “to close your eyes for the space of a single minute, and opening them you shall find yourself surrounded by the agreeable objects you have described.”

“O.K.,” said Frank. “But no tricks, mind!”

He closed his eyes as requested. A low, musical, humming, whooshing sound rose and fell about him. At the end of the minute, he looked around. There were the arches, pillars, marbles, hangings, etc. of the most exquisite palace imaginable, and wherever he looked he saw a tiger-skin, and on every tiger-skin there reclined a young woman of surpassing beauty, who was certainly not vulgarly overdressed.

Our good Frank was, to put it mildly, in ecstasy. He darted to and fro like a honeybee in a florist’s shop. He was received everywhere with smiles sweet beyond description, and with glances of an open or a veiled responsiveness. Here were blushes and lowered lids. Here was the flaming face of ardor. Here was a shoulder turned, but by no means a cold shoulder. Here were open arms, and such arms! Here was love dissembled, but vainly dissembled.