"Sit down," A. J. Merlin said suddenly. Wilbur sat down with such abruptness that he almost went through an ancient sofa to the floor. Merlin's eyes lit up.
"You really are timid," he said.
"Yes, sir," Wilbur agreed hastily. "Do you think you can help me?"
"Depends. It isn't my regular line. I came here looking for a special kind of person. If you're that person you can help me. In return I'll do the same for you. All depends on how cowardly you are."
"I've never been brave about anything in my life," Wilbur said truthfully.
He went on in detail. In a short history of his life he made it clear that he was a complete and abject coward. He was afraid of anything that walked or swam or flew, no matter how small. He was afraid of dark rooms. A dirty look made him tremble.
"Perfect," Merlin breathed. He rubbed his taloned hands together. "Not a shred of courage in you."
"Is that good?" Wilbur gasped.
Merlin smiled, and with his smile his eyebrows slanted more than ever. His ears were suddenly elongated.
"Ordinarily not," he said. Wilbur had a hunch that this time there would be nothing extraordinary to alter the case.