"I could change it into anything," said Mr. Fotheringay. "Just anything.

Here! be a pigeon, will you?"

In another moment a blue pigeon was fluttering round the room and making

Mr. Maydig duck every time it came near him. "Stop there, will you,"

said Mr. Fotheringay; and the pigeon hung motionless in the air. "I

could change it back to a bowl of flowers," he said, and after replacing

the pigeon on the table worked that miracle. "I expect you will want

your pipe in a bit," he said, and restored the tobacco-jar.

Mr. Maydig had followed all these later changes in a sort of ejaculatory

silence. He stared at Mr. Fotheringay and, in a very gingerly manner,

picked up the tobacco-jar, examined it, replaced it on the table.

Well!" was the only expression of his feelings.

"Now, after that it's easier to explain what I came about," said Mr.

Fotheringay; and proceeded to a lengthy and involved narrative of his

strange experiences, beginning with the affair of the lamp in the Long

Dragon and complicated by persistent allusions to Winch. As he went on,

the transient pride Mr. Maydig's consternation had caused passed away;

he became the very ordinary Mr. Fotheringay of everyday intercourse

again. Mr. Maydig listened intently, the tobacco-jar in his hand, and

his bearing changed also with the course of the narrative. Presently,

while Mr. Fotheringay was dealing with the miracle of the third egg, the

minister interrupted with a fluttering extended hand--

283

Tales of Space and Time