“It all started with that wretched cake,” sighed the Queen. “I am positive the scroll flew out of the cake when it exploded.”
“Of course it did!” cried Pompus. “Let us send for the cook and question him.”
So Hashem, very wet and blue from his dip, was brought before the King.
“A fine cook you are!” roared Pompus, “mixing gun powder and scrolls in a birthday cake.”
“But I didn’t,” wailed Hashem, falling on his knees. “Only eggs, your Highness—very best eggs—sugar, flour, spice and—”
“Bombshells!” cried the King angrily.
“The cake disappeared before the party, your Majesty!” cried Eejabo.
Everyone jumped at the sudden interruption, and Eejabo, who had crept in unnoticed, stepped before the throne.
“Disappeared,” continued Eejabo hoarsely, dripping blue water all over the royal rugs. “One minute there it was on the pantry table. Next minute—gone!” croaked Eejabo, flinging up his hands and shrugging his shoulders.
“Then, before a fellow could turn around, it was back. ’Tweren’t our fault if magic got mixed into it, and here we have been dipped for nothing!”