“Animation Control!” Collins roared triumphantly.
There was a small explosion, and the Utilizer settled down docilely. There was no hint of animation left in it.
Collins wiped his forehead and sat on the machine. Closer and closer. He’d better do some big wishing now, while he still had the chance.
In rapid succession, he asked for five million dollars, three functioning oil wells, a motion-picture studio, perfect health, twenty-five more dancing girls, immortality, a sports car and a herd of pedigreed cattle.
He thought he heard someone snicker. He looked around. No one was there.
When he turned back, the Utilizer had vanished.
He just stared. And, in another moment, he vanished.
When he opened his eyes, Collins found himself standing in front of a desk. On the other side was the large, red-faced man who had originally tried to break into his room. The man didn’t appear angry. Rather, he appeared resigned, even melancholy.
Collins stood for a moment in silence, sorry that the whole thing was over. The owner and the A’s had finally caught him. But it had been glorious while it lasted.
“Well,” Collins said directly, “you’ve got your machine back. Now, what else do you want?”