Slowly the rich landscape and lightly clothed inhabitants vanished into the roof.
"Oh!" exclaimed Jenny.
"Hush!" whispered Edie.
"My Gosh!" said Alfie.
A weird melody began. Demons leaped maliciously round a caldron. Green demons and red demons danced with pitchforks. The caldron bubbled and steamed. There was a crash from the cymbals. A figure sprang from the caldron, alighting on the board with a loud "ha-ha." Evil deeds were afoot, and desperate dialogue of good and ill.
The scene changed to a Chinese market-place. There were comic policemen, comic laundrywomen. There was the Princess Balroubadour in a palanquin more beautiful than the very best lampshade of the Hagworth Street parlor. There was the splendidly debonair Aladdin. There was the excruciatingly funny Widow Twankey. There was the Emperor with bass voice and mustaches trailing to the ground to be continually trodden on by humorists of every size and sort.
It would be impossible to relate every scene. It was like existence in a precious stone, so much sparkle and color was everywhere. The cave was wonderful. The journey to the Enchanted Palace through Cloudland was amazing. Then there were gilded tables, heaped with gigantic fruits, that rose from the very ground itself. There was the devilishly cunning Abanazar. There were songs and dances and tinsel and movement and jingles and processions and laughter and gongs and lanterns and painted umbrellas and magic doors and an exhaustingly funny bathing scene with real water. There was the active and slippery Genius of the Lamp, the lithe and agile Genius of the Ring, who ran right round the ledge of the circle and slid down a golden pillar back on to the stage amid thunders of applause.
To Jenny, perhaps the most real excitement of all was the appearance of her darling Lilli, first in gold and blue, and then in white, and then in black, and finally in a dress that must have been stolen from the very heart of a rainbow, such scintillating streams of color flickered and gleamed and radiated from its silken folds.
How gloriously golden looked her hair, how splendidly crimson her lips, how nobly brilliant were her eyes. And how she danced, first on one leg, then on the other; then upside down and inside out, and over one girl and under another. How the people clapped her and how pleased she looked, and how Jenny waved to her till Alfie and Edie simultaneously suppressed such an uncontrolled and conspicuous display of feelings. Then there was the transformation scene, which actually surpassed all that had gone before, with its bouquets of giant roses turning into fairies, with its clouds and lace and golden rocks and jewels and silver trees and view of magic oceans and snowy mountains and gaudy birds.
Suddenly crimson lights flared. There was a jovial shout from somewhere, and "Here we are again!" cried Joey, as round and round to "Ring a ring o' roses" galloped Clown and Pantaloon and Harlequin and Columbine. Jenny looked shyly up into Mr. Vergoe's face and could just see tears glittering in his eyes.