"What!" said John.
But the Poet urbanely continued: "I'm forgetting those hundred pounds," and taking out a sheaf of banknotes from a vast white pocket like a snow-cavern he crumpled them into a ball and hurled them at one of the barred shutters.
The shutter opened to let the packet pass.
"Money, my friend," observed the Poet tranquilly, "opens all doors."
A soft peal of very quiet laughter filled the little house and all the other shutters opened to a thin music: room after room flashed into light as though so many plays were starting on so many miniature stages with all the shadows flying to the roof: and one by one the half naked little women of the wild crept out of hiding and began their dance. And through it all as though it meant nothing for him, though his room was flashing from hue to hue like a transformation scene and an enchanting person had her arms around his neck, old Price bawled down: "Well, what of Norman?"
"He has become King of that country and wedded to its Queen," roared the Poet.
"I always said he was a sound practical fellow without an idea in his head," remarked William Price with serene philosophy.
"Like most of the Half-Race," assented the Poet.
"But we filled his bottle with luck," trilled the silvery lady upstairs.
"And his countenance with beauty," replied the Poet. "Well, we really must be off now. Good-bye to you all, and a pleasant evening!"