Stanley and the Magic Lamp (3 page)

“How very quiet you—” Mrs. Lambchop began, and then she stopped. Her eyes moved slowly about the room from Prince Haraz to the Askit Basket, and on to the Liophant.

“Gracious!” she said.

Prince Haraz made a little bow. “How do you do? You are the mother of these fine lads, yes?”

“I am, thank you,” said Mrs. Lambchop. “Have we met? I don’t seem to—”

“This is Prince Haraz,” Stanley said. “And that’s a Liophant, and that’s an Askit Basket.”

“Guess what,” said Arthur. “Prince Haraz is a genie, and Stanley can wish for anything he wants.”

“How very generous!” Mrs. Lambchop said. “But I’m not sure …” Turning, she called into the living room. “George, come here! Something quite unexpected has happened.”

“In a moment,” Mr. Lambchop called back. “I am reading an unusual story in my newspaper, about a duck who watches TV.”

“This is even more unusual than that,” she said, and Mr. Lambchop came at once.

“Ah, yes,” he said, looking about the room. “Yes, I see. Would someone care to explain?”

“I tried to before,” Stanley said. “Remember? About—”

“Wait, dear,” said Mrs. Lambchop.

The Liophant had been making snuffling, hungry sounds, so she went off to the kitchen and returned with a large bowl full of hamburger mixed with warm milk. While the Liophant ate, Stanley told Mrs. Lambchop what had happened.

Mr. Lambchop thought for a moment. “Unusual indeed,” he said. “And what a fine opportunity for you, Stanley. But I do not approve of using the Askit Basket for your homework, boys. Nor will your teachers, I’m afraid.”

“My plan is, let’s not tell them,” Arthur said.

Mr. Lambchop gave him a long look. “Would you take credit for work you have not done?”

Arthur blushed. “Oh! Well, I guess not … I wasn’t thinking. Because of all the excitement, you know?”

Mr. Lambchop wrote NOT IN USE
on a piece of cardboard and taped it to the Askit Basket.

“It is too late for more wishing tonight,” Mrs. Lambchop said. “Prince Haraz, there is a folding cot in the closet, so you will be comfortable here. Tomorrow is Saturday, which we always spend together in the park. You will join us, yes?”

“Thank you very much,” said the genie, and he helped Stanley and Arthur set up the cot.

The Liophant was already asleep, and Mrs. Lambchop picked up his bowl. “Gracious! Three pounds of the best hamburger, and he ate every
bit.” She put out the light. “Good night to you all.”

It was quite dark in the bedroom, but some moonlight shone through the window. From their beds, Stanley and Arthur could see that Prince Haraz was still sitting up in his cot. For a moment all was silence except for the gentle snoring of the Liophant, and then the genie said, “Sorry about the snoring. It’s having all that nose, probably.”

“It’s okay,” Arthur said sleepily. “Do genies snore?”

“We don’t even sleep,” said Prince Haraz. “Your mother was so kind,
I didn’t want to tell her. She might have felt bad.”

“I’ll try to stay awake, if you want to talk,” Stanley said.

“No thanks,” said the genie. “I’ll be fine. After all those years alone in the lamp, it’s nice just having company.”

Everyone slept late and enjoyed a large breakfast, particularly the Liophant, who ate two more pounds of hamburger, five bananas, and three loaves of bread.

Then, since all the Lambchops enjoyed tennis, they set out with their rackets for the courts in the big park close by. Aware that his genie clothes would puzzle people, Prince Haraz borrowed slacks and a shirt from Stanley, and came along.

In the street, they met Ralph Jones, an old college friend of Mr. Lambchop’s, whom they had not seen for quite some time.

“Nice running into you, George, and you too, Mrs. Lambchop,” said Mr. Jones. “Hello, Arthur. Hello, Stanley. Aren’t you the one who was flat? Rounded out nicely, I see.”

“You always did have a fine memory, Ralph,” Mr. Lambchop said. “Let me introduce our houseguest,
Prince Haraz. He is a foreign student, here to study our ways.”

“How do you do?” said the genie. “I am Fawzi Mustafa Aslan Mirza Melek Namerd Haraz.”

“How do you do?” Mr. Jones said. “Well, I must be off. Good-bye, Lambchops. Nice to have met you, Prince Fawzi Mustafa Aslan Mirza Melek Namerd Haraz.”

“He
does
have a wonderful memory,” Mrs. Lambchop said as Mr. Jones walked away.

They set out for the park again.

“How it would surprise Mr. Jones to learn that Prince Haraz is
a genie,” Mrs. Lambchop remarked. “The whole world would be amazed. Gracious! We’d all be famous, I’m sure.”

“I was famous once, when I was flat,” Stanley said. “I didn’t like it after a while.”

“I remember,” said Mrs. Lambchop. “Nevertheless, I wish I knew myself what being famous feels like.”

Prince Haraz looked at Stanley in a questioning way, and Stanley gave a little nod. The genie smiled and nodded back.

They were just passing the Famous Museum of Art, one of the city ‘s most
important buildings. A tour bus, filled with visitors from foreign countries, had stopped before the museum, and a guide was lecturing the passengers through a megaphone.

“Over where those trees are, that’s our great City Park!” he announced. “Here, on the right, is the Famous Museum of Art, full of great paintings and statues and— Oh, what a surprise! We’re in luck today, folks ! That’s Mrs. George Lambchop, coming right toward us! Harriet Lambchop herself, in person! Right there, with the tennis racket!”

The tourists cried out in pleased
astonishment, turning in their seats to stare where the guide was pointing.

“What—? He means
you
, Harriet!” said Mr. Lambchop.

“I think so,” said Mrs. Lambchop. “Oh, my goodness! They’re coming!”

The tourists were rushing from the bus. A Japanese family reached Mrs. Lambchop first, all with cameras.

“Please, Lampchop lady,” said the husband, bowing politely. “Honor to take picture, yes?”

“Of course,” said Mrs. Lambchop. “I hope you are enjoying our country. But why
my
picture? I’m not—”

“No, no! Famous, famous! Famous Lambchop lady!” cried the Japanese family, taking pictures as fast as they could.

Mrs. Lambchop understood suddenly that her wish had been granted. “Thank you, Prince Haraz!” she said. “What fun!”

She posed graciously for all the tourists and signed dozens of autographs. In the park she was recognized again, and had to do more posing and signing.

It was now midmorning, and all the park’s tennis courts were occupied, but the Lambchops’ disappointment
lessened when they saw a crowd gathered by one court and learned that Tom McRude, the world’s best tennis player, was about to lecture and demonstrate his strokes. Tom McRude was known for his terrible temper and bad manners, but the Lambchops were eager to see him nevertheless. With Prince Haraz, they squeezed close to the court, next to the TV-news cameras covering the event.

“None of you can ever be a great tennis player like me,” Tom McRude was saying. “But at least you can have the thrill of seeing me.”

A little old lady in the crowd gave a tiny sneeze, and he glared at her. “What’s the matter with you, granny?”

The old lady burst into tears, and friends led her away.

“What a mean fellow!” Prince Haraz whispered to Stanley.

“I can’t stand old sneezing people!” said Tom McRude. “Okay, now I’ll show how I hit my great forehand! First—”

“Hold it, Tom!” called the TV-news director. “We’ve just spotted Harriet Lambchop here. What a break! Maybe she’ll say a few words for our cameras!”

Even Tom McRude was impressed. “
The
Harriet Lambchop? Wow!”

“Swing those cameras this way, fellows!” The director ran over to Mrs. Lambchop, holding out a microphone.

“Wonderful to see you!” he said. “Everybody wants to know your views. Favorite color? What about the foreign situation? Do you sleep in pajamas or a nightgown?”

“Isn’t that rather personal?” asked Mr. Lambchop.

“George, please….” Mrs. Lambchop spoke into the microphone. “Thank
you all for your kind welcome,” she said. “I would just like to say that I’m glad my fans are having such a lovely day in this delightful park.”

The crowd cheered and waved, and Mrs. Lambchop waved back and blew kisses. Jealous of the attention she was getting, Tom McRude whacked a tennis ball over the fence behind him.

Noticing, Mrs. Lambchop spoke again into the microphone. “And now, let us give this great champion our attention!”

“Yeah!” growled Tom McRude. When the TV cameras had swung
back to him, he went on. “I need a volunteer, so that I can demonstrate how terrible most players are compared to me!”

Mr. Lambchop thought it would be thrilling to share a court with a champion. Signaling with his racket, he stepped forward.

Tom McRude handed him some balls. “Okay, try a serve.”

Mr. Lambchop prepared to serve.

“He’s got his feet wrong!” Tom McRude shouted. “And his grip is wrong! Everything is wrong!”

This made Mr. Lambchop so nervous that he served two balls into
the net instead of over it.

“Terrible! Terrible! Watch how I do it,” said Tom McRude, running to the far side of the court. From there he served five balls, so hard and fast that Mr. Lambchop missed the first four entirely. The fifth one knocked the racket out of his hand.

“Ha, ha!” laughed Tom McRude. “Now let’s see you run!”

He began hitting whizzing forehands and backhands at sharp angles across the court, making Mr. Lambchop look foolish as he raced back and forth, getting very red in
the face and missing practically every shot.

The other Lambchops grew angry, as did Prince Haraz. “This need not continue, you know,” he whispered to Stanley.

Just then, Mr. Lambchop came skidding to a halt before them, banging his knee with his racket as he missed yet another of the champion’s powerful shots.

“Ha, ha! This is how
I
give lessons!” shouted Tom McRude.

Mr. Lambchop looked at Stanley, then at Prince Haraz. “Okay,” Stanley said, and the genie
smiled a little smile.

“Thank you,” said Mr. Lambchop. Returning to the court, he called out to the crowd. “Ladies and gentlemen, I will try my serve again!”

Across the net, Tom McRude gave a nasty laugh and slashed his big racket through the air.

Mr. Lambchop served a ball, not into the net this time, but fast as a bullet right where it was supposed to go. Tom McRude’s mouth fell open as the ball whizzed past him. “Out!” he shouted. “That ball was out!”

Voices rose from the crowd. “Shame on you!” … “The ball was
in
!” … “What a liar!” … “In, in, in!”