The Banshee received her gold. The Phoenix told David for goodness
sake not to drop the box or let the lid pop open, or they would regret
it to their dying day. David, hearing the rustle of the Wail as it
ravenously attacked the cabbages inside the box, assured the Phoenix
that he would be careful. The Banshee said, "Ah, Phoenix, do sell the
laddie to me," but her tone was more teasing than serious, and they
all laughed. Good-bys were said all round, and David and the Phoenix
left. The last thing they heard as they felt their way up the dark
passage was the happy cackling of the Banshee and the clang of the
cash register.

* * * * *

They got back to the hotel before dawn and very carefully crept down
the fire escape into the Scientist's room. They put the box on the
bedside table, stuck out their tongues at the sleeping Scientist, and
crept out again. Then they went home, the Phoenix to the ledge and
David to bed, where he fell asleep instantly.

The Wail was wildly successful. The Scientist released it from its box
at seven o'clock in the morning. People living in the hotel thought
the world had come to its end. The rest of the town wondered if it was
a riot, or an earthquake, or both with three steam calliopes thrown
in for good measure. David, who lived twelve blocks from the hotel,
stirred in his sleep and dreamed he was riding a fire engine. Even the
Phoenix claimed later that a kind of moan was borne on the breeze all
the way up to the ledge.

The hotel burst into activity like a kicked anthill. People poured
down the fire escapes, shot out through the doors, lowered themselves
into the street with ropes of knotted blankets. Others barricaded
themselves in their rooms by piling furniture against the doors and
windows. One guest found his way to the cellar and hid in an ash can
for two days. The manager crawled into the office safe and locked the
door, without even bothering to remember that he was the only one who
knew the combination. The telephone exchange was jammed as calls
flooded in to mobilize the Boy Scouts, the Red Cross, the Salvation
Army, the National Guard, and the Volunteer Flood Control Association.
When the Wail finally died out (which was not until seven-thirty,
because it had devoured both cabbages during the night and had grown
to more than twice its original size) the police entered the hotel in
force, armed to the eyebrows. They found nothing. At the end