He shook my hat, and shook out into his extended hand, two or three eggs, a large marble, a watch, about half a dozen of the inevitable glass balls, and then crumpled, crinkled paper, more and more and more, talking all the time of the way in which people neglect to brush their hats inside as well as out—­politely, of course, but with a certain personal application.  “All sorts of things accumulate, sir...  Not you, of course, in particular...  Nearly every customer...  Astonishing what they carry about with them...”  The crumpled paper rose and billowed on the counter more and more and more, until he was nearly hidden from us, until he was altogether hidden, and still his voice went on and on.  “We none of us know what the fair semblance of a human being may conceal, Sir.  Are we all then no better than brushed exteriors, whited sepulchres-----”

His voice stopped—­exactly like when you hit a neighbour’s gramophone with a well-aimed brick, the same instant silence—­and the rustle of the paper stopped, and everything was still...

“Have you done with my hat?” I said, after an interval.

There was no answer.

I stared at Gip, and Gip stared at me, and there were our distortions in the magic mirrors, looking very rum, and grave, and quiet...

“I think we’ll go now,” I said.  “Will you tell me how much all this comes to?...

“I say,” I said, on a rather louder note, “I want the bill; and my hat, please.”

It might have been a sniff from behind the paper pile...

“Let’s look behind the counter, Gip,” I said.  “He’s making fun of us.”

I led Gip round the head-wagging tiger, and what do you think there was behind the counter?  No one at all!  Only my hat on the floor, and a common conjurer’s lop-eared white rabbit lost in meditation, and looking as stupid and crumpled as only a conjurer’s rabbit can do.  I resumed my hat, and the rabbit lolloped a lollop or so out of my way.

“Dadda!” said Gip, in a guilty whisper.

“What is it, Gip?” said I.

“I do like this shop, dadda.”

“So should I,” I said to myself, “if the counter wouldn’t suddenly extend itself to shut one off from the door.”  But I didn’t call Gip’s attention to that.  “Pussy!” he said, with a hand out to the rabbit as it came lolloping past us; “Pussy, do Gip a magic!” and his eyes followed it as it squeezed through a door I had certainly not remarked a moment before.  Then this door opened wider, and the man with one ear larger than the other appeared again.  He was smiling still, but his eye met mine with something between amusement and defiance.  “You’d like to see our showroom, sir,” he said, with an innocent suavity.  Gip tugged my finger forward.  I glanced at the counter and met the shopman’s eye again.  I was beginning to think the magic just a little too genuine.  “We haven’t very much time,” I said.  But somehow we were inside the showroom before I could finish that.