Free The Man Who Was Magic by Paul Gallico Page B

EETH . B RUSH AND C OMB . S HAVE . L OTION . P OWDER . H AIR T ONIC . M ANICURE . M ASSAGE ,” etc.
    While The Great Robert’s residence was in the old-fashioned style, with gables, timbers and leaded windows outside, it was a real magician’s house within, where everything worked by electricity. Whatever one needed, practically, all one had to do was turn a knob and there it was.
    “Look here,” Adam said, “isn’t this marvelous? I call this real magic.” He pushed half a dozen or so buttons, pulled a lever and sat back.
    Immediately a nailbrush vigorously chased the travel grime from beneath his fingernails; a whirling brush polished his teeth; a razor shaved him; bottles poured lotion onto his face and tonic onto his red hair; a comb and brush arranged the latter neatly; an arm came up and patted powder onto his face and a vibrator gave his neck and shoulders a massage.
    Previously the Chief Magician had shown Adam and Mopsy about the house, displaying with great pride its many mechanical, magical marvels. For instance, in the library it was not necessary to take down any volume from a shelf. One merely dialed its number, moved an indicator to chapter and page, and the book would begin to read itself out loud.
    When one smiled at a solemn portrait hanging on the wall, it would smile back. “An example of one of my earlier illusions,” The Great Robert had commented. “I’ll show you how it works later, if you’re interested.” He had taken infinite pains to explain everything to Adam, which was all a part of his plan to get hold of the stranger’s secret.
    “Our magic kitchen is wired for sound,” he explained. “In addition to the usual peelers, scrapers and slicers you see there, nothing needs to be touched by hand. I’ll get you a report from the oven.”
    He pressed a small switch at the side, whereupon a voice announced, “Everything going fine in here; roast browning evenly; ought to be done in about an hour.”
    “You’ll sleep well in our magic bed,” Robert had said, demonstrating the bedroom. “Some little inventions of my own. Turn this and that hand comes down from the ceiling and rubs your back until you get drowsy. This one activates the pillow-puncher, which punches up and turns your pillows to the cool side while you sleep. Here’s your blanket-returner, when it slips off during the night, and your sheet straightener, if you’re one of those tossers and turners who get the bottom one full of wrinkles. Your alarm is vocal, of course. I’ll set it for you. It says, ‘Sorry, time to get up’ and you have four variations on the dial: whisper, murmur, firm tone, or an irritable shout.”
    During all this Mopsy had trotted along behind muttering to himself, sniffing suspiciously at everything and giving little yelps of alarm when things suddenly jumped out from walls or cabinets, or drinks popped up mysteriously out of the arms of drawing-room chairs.
    Having had a bath, changed his clothes and submitted to the ministrations of the bathroom chair, Adam was now rested, fresh, tidy and ready for dinner later. He said to Mopsy, “How about you? A little clean up wouldn’t hurt you, either.”
    “What, me get up into that thing?” Mopsy replied. “Thank you for nothing! I wouldn’t mind you running a comb through me and maybe giving my face a bit of a wash, but all this funny business upsets me. I like a house to behave like a house and not like a midway. I wish we were staying at a hotel.”
    “Well, we’re not,” Adam said, “and I’ll thank you to be more polite and mind your manners, particularly at dinner. It’s a great honor to have been asked to stay by the Chief Magician, Mayor and Head of the Guild of Master Magicians.”
    “That old fraud!” Mopsy replied. “Honestly, Adam, can’t you see what he’s up to, taking us all over his house and explaining everything?”
    “It seemed to me most kind and hospitable.”
    “Ha-ha!” scoffed Mopsy. “Kind and