Once Upon a Time-- a few weeks ago rather, on one of the innumerable days when the Black Hatted Man lurked darkly over one shoulder or the other, whispering snippets of his exploits for me to scribble furtively on braw adverts or scraps of wrapping paper. And there was this little dark-haired boy who wanted to look in one of the cases, where we keep expensive collectable shiny things-- leather cigar cases, hand-tooled video boxes, odd, single pieces of art, a tortoiseshell shaving set I am desperately in love with... you know, that sort of thing. Largely, at a discount, as most of the bits have been here forever. The boy wanted to look at a couple of carved, wooden boxes. They were almost $200 each, even with 20% off, but the child did not seem daunted by mere price tags. He was looking for another interesting box for his collection.

He collected boxes. Boxes of all kinds. Pretty boxes, wood boxes, metal boxes, all sorts of boxes. Sometimes he put things in them, sometimes not. But he loved them. And the Black Hatted Man was over my shoulder, whispering into my ear.

"Show him the frog." He said.

The frog sat between two enameled pillbox looking things, covered in blue and pink roses and the like. It was a enamel too, in emerald green, with gold for lips and feet, shining, ruby-jewel eyes. It was hinged almost invisibly in the back, and it's mouth opened to reveal a swirly, butter-gold enamel interior. oh, it was a box, a treasure-box, a box that is also a treasure. And it was twenty-tree bucks.

"Wow." said the boy, and his eyes gleamed like the Black Hatted Man's smile. He went off to Think About It.

But you see, we were closing in five minutes, and the lad decided he wanted it the moment his mother was out of the door. Regretfully, he followed, and we closed up.

As we left the building, a car pulled up to the store. It was the boy, who had talked his mother into coming back for the wondrous frog. But alas, the motion detectors had already been set, and the boy and his family were going back to Chicago the following morning. I gave them all our information-- how to call, and all-- told them we ship, and asked the boy's name, which was Rory. I had caught the giddiness with which he announced their return, and so the subsequent crush when they left, once more, empty handed.

Murfius put his on my shoulder.

"You did the best you could," he said.

I sighed. Days later, I realised I should have got the boy's address, for I'd have bought the thing myself, and sent it to him as a gift from me and the Dog of Desire. And it's still there in the case with all the Crocodile's hoardings, glittering tauntingly at a boy who isn't there.

That is how I managed to Not deal in a Heart's Desire.

<<agé chose>>

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