Wilbur Wunch sighed. Wilhelmina had been particularly unbearable since the astrologist had predicted that his three wishes would come true. All she had talked about had been the money, the jewels, the servants that she expected. She had made him stay home from work that day to be on hand at sunset, the appointed hour. Wilbur had the very definite suspicion that life would be far from pleasant if Wilhelmina’s desires were granted.
The sun, he noticed, was dropping into the horizon, a flaming red ball on the edge of the world. Wilhelmina turned to him, her thin narrow features set rigidly.
“It’s time,” she said. “I’ll tell you what to wish.”
Wilbur squirmed uncomfortably. He didn’t like the setup. He felt foolish. If Wilhelmina was so interested and so greedy, why shouldn’t she be the one to wish?
“All right,” he said petulantly, “but I don’t see why I had to get lucky all at once. It’s upset my whole day. I’d be a lot happier if I didn’t have anything to do with this.”
“Don’t worry,” Wilhelmina snapped, “you aren’t going to have much to do with this affair. I’m going to arrange that.”
“Why — why, what do you mean?” faltered Wilbur.
“Just this.” Wilhelmina faced him, her hands on her angular hips. “It’s time for you to wish now. The sun is going down. And you’re going to wish just what I tell you. Your first wish will be to wish that I had the wishing power for the remaining two stones. Do you understand me?”
“Why sure,” Wilbur said, “you want the power to make the wishes. That’s all right with me because I never wanted it anyway. That astrologer said I was going to be real happy and lucky today, but I never felt worse in my life. So you’re welcome to it. I wish that you had the power to make the two remaining wishes. There! Does that make you feel any better?”
“I’ll know in a little while,” Wilhelmina cried. She squared her narrow shoulders and threw back her head. “I wish I had one million dollars!” she said loudly.
Wilbur sighed. If Wilhelmina got her wish, it would be a calamity. She would turn into an unbearable, arrogant, over-proud snob. He shuddered contemplating it. What his own life would be like, he hardly dared think about.
In the middle of these unpleasant thoughts, the doorbell rang.
Wilhelmina answered it, and an instant later he heard a shrill, hysterical shriek sounding through the house. He started for the front of the house, but he met Wilhelmina rushing wildly toward him. Her thin face was flushed with fanatical exultance.
“It worked!” she screamed, “it worked!”
“What did?” he asked. He noticed a letter clutched in her hands.
“The stars!” she cried, “the stars have done it. My wish has been granted. A distant relative of mine died and left me his fortune. It amounts to just exactly one million dollars. I’m rich, rich, d’y’hear? RICH!”
She danced around the room, hugging the letter to her bosom, crying and screaming frantically.
Wilbur watched her in silence. It was worse than he had thought it would be. And that was saying a lot. He waited as she calmed down and he saw the greedy cunning creep into her face.
“I suppose,” she said quickly, “that you think you have some claim on this money. I can see it in your face. You think because you gave me the wishes you deserve half of it. Well you don’t, do you hear me? You don’t. It’s mine and I intend to keep every cent of it for myself.”
Wilbur knew his wife too well to be surprised. He only wondered gloomily about the black, unenviable future that stretched before him. He thought of Joe Blodget and sighed wistfully.
“And don’t forget,” Wilhelmina thrust herself into his pleasant dreams, “I still have another wish.” She glared at him scornfully and Wilbur would have sworn that her eyes actually glittered like they’re reported to do in fiction.
“I’ve made up my mind,” she said deliberately, “but before I make my wish, there are a few things I want to tell you. First, I want to tell you how much I despise you. How much your beaten, insignificant, frightened little mind disgusts me. Then I want to tell you that I’ve laughed at you for years and I’ve enjoyed brow-beating you because I knew you never had the courage to talk back. You’re a despicable, revolting little worm, Wilbur Wunch, and I had to tell you that before I leave you for good.”
“Leave me?” Wilbur gasped.
“Do you think I’m fool enough to stay now that I have money?” Wilhelmina demanded. “I’ve got the money I need, and here’s my last wish.” She stood before him a picture of incarnate rage and triumph — thin, bitter, mean, cruel and scornful.
“I wish,” she said spitefully, “that I’d never met you, Wilbur Wunch.” Wilbur opened his mouth, but before he could speak, a blinding flash shot through the room and then all hell seemed to explode in his face.
Before everything went black, he had a kaleidoscopic image of the room whirling dizzily, Wilhelmina’s lean features a mask of fright and amazement, and then the entire flashing picture merged into reeling fathomless blackness...
Wilbur Wunch had braced himself against the incredible, blinding shock that had assailed him. Braced himself, while bunching his hands into tight knots. But then, miraculously, the roaring had faded, the room seemed to be regaining balance. And Wilbur opened his eyes.
Everything was quiet, everything was beautiful, but — the realization struck him with the suddenness and force of blackjack in a dark alley — everything was totally changed!
He was no longer in the modest living room of his home! He was in a strange, luxurious apartment.
Dazedly, semi-hysterically, he looked wildly about. A thousand fears battled for admission to his mind. There was no Wilhelmina in this apartment, and even the clothes he was wearing were not the drab garments that usually concealed his slight frame.
Then, looking down, Wilbur realized for the first time that he clutched a cocktail glass in his hand and that he stood — clad in a red velvet dressing gown — before a duplex, super-tone radio.
Understanding broke on Wilbur like the sun beaming suddenly through gray clouds. He smiled and squared his shoulders and tasted the drink in the glass he held in his hand.
It was delightful. He took another sip, and his smile widened until he was chuckling, then laughing out loud. It was a good, ringing laugh, and it echoed cheerily through the sumptuous apartment.
Wilbur laughed until his sides ached, until he collapsed on the soft sofa, doubled up with the gleeful mirth that coursed through him. He didn’t stop until the tears streamed down his cheeks and he sat up too weak to laugh any more.
It was glorious. And the most glorious part of it was the fact that Wilhelmina had caused this wonderful change.
For her last spiteful wish had been that she had never met him. And what was more important, she had gotten her wish!
For here he was — Wilbur Wunch, Bachelor. Wilbur Wunch, who had never met Wilhelmina Wunch. A free, different Wilbur Wunch, who enjoyed the same delights and advantages that Joe Blodget enjoyed.
But that was not why he laughed until he was weak. It was Wilhelmina and her loss of the million dollars that made him laugh. For if she had never met him, she could never have wished for and never received the money. Oh, it was glorious!
He sank back into the sofa and picked up his glass. Through the high windows of his glorious new apartment he could see a myriad stars winking down at him, friendly and cheerful.
He winked back.
“You said I was going to be lucky,” he chortled, “and buddies, you sure gave me the jackpot.”
Then he started laughing all over again.
That astrology stuff was okay!