"Was it the brown bowl, Leontine?" asked Monsieur Jules, trembling with excitement.
"Yes," she answered.
"Where is it? Where is it?" demanded the Arab, in a hoarse voice. "The precious liquor may yet be saved."
"Too late, Monsieur," said the baker, shaking his head, sadly. "I used the contents of the bowl to mix the dough for my gingerbread man."
"A gingerbread man! What do you mean?" asked Ali Dubh.
"I baked a man out of gingerbread this morning," said Monsieur Jules, "and to my horror he came alive, and spoke to me, and walked out of the shop while he was still smoking hot."
"It is no wonder," said the Arab, dolefully; "for within him was enough of the Great Elixir to bring a dozen men to life, and give them strength and energy for many years. Ah, Monsieur and Madame, think of what your stupidity has cost the world!"
"I do not comprehend," said Madame, firmly, "how the world has ever yet been benefited by the Great Elixir, which you and your selfish countrymen have kept for centuries corked up in a golden flask."
"Bismillah!" shouted the Arab, striking himself fiercely across the forehead with his clinched fist. "Cannot you understand, you stupid one, that it was mine—mine!—this Wonderful Water of Life? I had planned to use it myself—drop by drop—that I might live forever."