Take them away. Roll up all the tiger-skins but one.”

“It shall be done,” said the jinn. “Behold, it is accomplished.”

“And on that remaining tiger-skin,” said Frank, “put me Cleopatra herself.”

The next moment, Cleopatra was there, looking, it must be admitted, absolutely superb. “Hullo!” she said. “Here I am, on a tiger-skin again!”

“Again?” cried Frank, suddenly reminded of the old man in the shop. “Here! Take her back. Bring me Helen of Troy.”

Next moment, Helen of Troy was there. “Hullo!” she said. “Here I am, on a tiger-skin again!”

“Again?” cried Frank. “Damn that old man! Take her away. Bring me Queen Guinevere.”

Guinevere said exactly the same thing; so did Madame la Pompadour, Lady Hamilton, and every other famous beauty that Frank could think of. “No wonder,” said he, “that that old man was such an extremely wizened old man! The old fiend! The old devil! He has properly taken the gilt off all the gingerbread. Call me jealous if you like; I will not play second fiddle to that ugly old rascal. Where shall I find a perfect creature, worthy of the embraces of such a connoisseur as I am?”

“If you are deigning to address that question to me,” said the jinn, “let me remind you that there was, in that shop, a little bottle which my late master had never unstoppered, because I supplied him with it after he had lost interest in matters of this sort. Nevertheless it has the reputation of containing the most beautiful girl in the whole world.”

“You are right,” cried Frank. “Get me that bottle without delay.”

In a few seconds the bottle lay before him. “You may have the afternoon off,” said Frank to the jinn.

“Thank you,” said the jinn. “I will go and see my family in Arabia. I have not seen them for a long time.” With that he bowed and withdrew. Frank turned his attention to the bottle, which he was not long in unstoppering.

Out came the most beautiful girl you can possibly imagine. Cleopatra and all that lot were hags and frumps compared with her. “Where am I?” said she. “What is this beautiful palace? What am I doing on a tiger-skin? Who is this handsome young prince?”

“It’s me!” cried Frank, in a rapture. “It’s me!”

The afternoon passed like a moment in Paradise. Before Frank knew it the jinn was back, ready to serve up supper. Frank must sup with his charmer, for this time it was love, the real thing. The jinn, entering with the viands, rolled up his wicked eyes at the sight of so much beauty.

It happened that Frank, all love and restlessness, darted out into the garden between two mouthfuls, to pluck his beloved a rose. The jinn, on the pretence of serving her wine, edged up very closely. “I don’t know if you remember me,” said he in a whisper. “I used to be in the next bottle to you. I have often admired you through the glass.”

“Oh, yes,” said she. “I remember you quite well.”

At that moment Frank returned. The jinn could say no more, but he stood about the room, inflating his monstrous chest, and showing off his plump and dusky muscles. “You need not be afraid of him,” said Frank. “He is only a jinn. Pay no attention to him.