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“Indeed?” replied the Little Glass-Man, “indeed? I should bear the blame for your misfortunes? Is this your gratitude for what I have done for you? Who advised you to wish so foolishly? You were bound to be a glass-manufacturer, and yet did not know where to sell your wares. Didn’t I caution you to wish wisely? Judgment, Peter, and wisdom, you were lacking in.”

“What do you mean by judgment and wisdom?” demanded Peter. “I am as wise a man as any body. Little Glass-Man, and will prove it to you.” With these words he seized the Little Glass-Man violently by the neck, shouting: “Now I have you, Schatzhauser im gruennen Tannenwald! and now I will make my third wish, which you must grant me. I want right here on the spot two hundred thousand thalers, and a house and—-oh dear!” shrieked he, as he wrung his hands, for the Little Glass-Man had transformed himself into a glowing glass that burned his hand like flaming fire. And nothing more was to be seen of the little man.

For many days Peter’s blistered hand reminded him of his folly and ingratitude; but when his hand healed his conscience became deadened, and he said: “Even if my glass-works and every thing I have should be sold, I still have the Stout Ezekiel to fall back on. As long as he has money of a Sunday I shall not want for it.”

True, Peter! But if he should have none? And this very thing happened one day. For one Sunday Peter came down to the tavern, and the people stretched their necks out of the window, one saying, “There comes Gambler Pete!” and another, “Yes, the Emperor of the Ball, the rich glass-manufacturer!” while a third one shook his head, saying, “Every-where his debts are spoken of, and in the town it is said that the magistrate will not be put off much longer from seizing his glass-works.” The rich Peter greeted the guests at the window politely as he stepped out of his wagon, and called out: “Good evening, landlord! has the Stout Ezekiel come yet?” And a deep voice replied: “Come right in, Peter. We have already set down to the cards, and have kept a place for you.” So Peter entered the public room, put his hand into his pocket and found that the Stout Ezekiel must be pretty well provided with money, for his own pocket was crammed full.

He sat down at the table with the others, and played and won, losing now and then; and so they played until evening came on, and all the honest folk went home, and then they continued to play by candle-light, until two other players said: “Come, we’ve had enough, and must go home to our wife and children.” But Gambler Pete challenged the Stout Ezekiel to remain. For some time Ezekiel would not consent to do so, but finally he said: “Very well, I will just count my money and then we throw for five gulden stakes, for less than that would be child’s play.” He took out his purse and counted out one hundred guldens, so Gambler Pete knew how much money he had without troubling himself to count. But although Ezekiel had won all the afternoon, he now began to lose throw after throw, and swore fearfully over his losses. If he threw threes, Peter would immediately throw fives. At last he flung down his last five guldens on the table, and said: “Once more, and even if I lose these I won’t quit, for you must lend me from your winnings Peter; one honest fellow should help another!”

“As much as you like, even if it was a hundred guldens,” said the Emperor of the Ball, pleased with his gains; and the Stout Ezekiel shook the dice and threw fifteen. “Three fives!” cried he, “now we will see!” But Pete threw eighteen, and a hoarse well-known voice behind him said: “There, that was the last!”