“I’d like a thousand dollars in small unmarked bills,” Collins said cautiously. When the hum grew louder, he pressed the button. In front of him appeared a large mound of soiled singles, five and ten dollar bills. They were not crisp, but they certainly were money.
Collins threw a handful in the air and watched it settle beautifully to the floor. He lay on his bed and began making plans.
First, he would get the machine out of New York—upstate, perhaps—some place where he wouldn’t be bothered by nosy neighbours. The income tax would be tricky on this sort of thing. Perhaps, after he got organised, he should go to Central America, or …
There was a suspicious noise in the room.
Collins leaped to his feet. A hole was opening in the wall, and someone was forcing his way through.
“ Hey, I didn’t ask you anything!” Collins told the machine.
The hole grew larger, and a large, red-faced man was half-way through, pushing angrily at the hole.
At that moment, Collins remembered that machines usually have owners. Anyone who owned a wishing machine wouldn’t take kindly to having it gone. He would go to any lengths to recover it. Probably, he wouldn’t stop short of—
“Protect me!” Collins shouted at the Utilizer, and stabbed the red button.
A small, bald man in loud pyjamas appeared, yawning sleepily. “Sanisa Leek, Temporal Wall Protection Service,” he said, rubbing his eyes. “I’m Leek. What can I do for you?”