Three times the house sped round her; then it quivered and stood still. She stared at the glass door that held a myriad reflections of herself. As though her gaze had power to push, it slowly opened. She now saw into a vast hall, and heard a gentle but compelling voice say: “Come in.” Trembling, Jasmine walked through the door. The light was dim and flickering as though from a fire, but no fireplace could be seen. Across the whole length of the hall ran a counter, such as you see in large shops, and behind this counter there rose up a wall made of rows of boxes piled high the one upon the other, and on these boxes were rainbow letters and figures. Between the boxes and the counter there stood a tall, sweetly-smiling woman, whose face, though unrecognisable, seemed somehow familiar to Jasmine.
“I was expecting you, beautiful Jasmine,” spoke the stranger in a voice that was soft but decided, like the fall of snow. “You would buy money, would you not?”
“Can one buy money?” faltered Jasmine. “Save with money, and, alas! I have none.”
“Though you were penniless, yet from me you could purchase boundless wealth,” replied the stranger. “Behold, a purse,” she continued, holding up a red-tasselled bag, “which, spend as you may, will always contain one thousand golden guineas. This purse is yours if in exchange you will give me one part of yourself.”
“A part of myself?” gasped the astonished Jasmine. “What would you have? My hair?”
“No,” smiled the woman. “Lovely as are your tresses, in time they would grow again, and no one may own unlimited wealth and pay no price therefor. Your beauty shall remain untouched. It is your Sense of Humour that I require.”
“My Sense of Humour?” laughed Jasmine. “Is that all? Just that part of me which makes me laugh? Humour? What was it my mother used to call Humour? I remember—she said it was Man’s consolation sent to him by God in sign of peace. God’s rainbow in our minds. But with boundless wealth what need of consolation shall I have? Besides, I have often been told I had but little Sense of Humour. The more gladly will I give it to you. The purse, I pray,” and Jasmine held out both her trembling hands.
“Stay a while,” said the solemn, smiling woman. “I must warn you of two conditions. First, I would have you know, the money this purse yields can be spent only upon yourself. Would you still have it?”
“Yes! Yes! Yes!” clamoured Jasmine.
“I must also tell you that should you ever repent of your bargain and wish to buy back the precious sense you sell, it will, alas, not be in my power to help you. I can never buy back from the person to whom I have sold. The only chance of recovering your Sense of Humour is, that another customer, unasked by you, should buy it back with a similar purse, and I warn you that it may be hard to find anyone willing to give up boundless wealth for the sake of your laughter.”