In response to this, Mr. Rich only laughed again.
Richard decided to prove the existence of magic to his father with a more ambitious approach, especially since he was currently experiencing genuine emotions, a whole cocktail of varied feelings. In a fit of rage, he exclaimed:
- Abra-Cadabra, damn table, fly!
The heavy mahogany desk soared to a height of five feet. It hung there for a few seconds and then crashed to the floor with a terrifying crash. The fall shook the walls and caused the chairs to bounce slightly. Cigars and writing utensils scattered across the table.
Richie leaned back in his chair wearily and wiped the sweat from his forehead.
- Well, dad, do you believe me now?!
Mr. Rich was impressed. Very impressed.
"Not the word, Richie," he said with amazement and a hint of admiration. "That was an incredible stunt! You must have spent a lot of time performing it?"
Richard groaned and closed his eyes. He felt hopeless and wanted to howl at the top of his lungs.
"Oh my God!" the boy exclaimed. "Dad, you're so tough!"
"Oh, right!" Gerald said proudly. "For me to believe these tricks are actually magic, something truly incredible would have to happen. But you tried, son. I understand you were trying to play a trick on me. As a consolation, I can tell you that you almost succeeded."
"It's magic! MAGIC!" Richard exclaimed. Then, from Gerald's mocking smile, he realized there was no point in trying to prove anything. Waving his hand, he said wearily, "Who am I trying to prove this to?! Okay... Dad, remember how the house shook last winter?"
- Of course, Richie.
"It wasn't an underground explosion. I had a magical surge."
- Nice try.
Mr. Rich's face remained wide with a smile, and he answered with a note of consolation.
Richard despaired of proving his point to his father. He slowly rose from his chair and wearily trudged out of the office. At the door, the boy turned around and said:
- Dad, when you talk to Uncle Charlie, don't say I didn't warn you.
At that moment, the door suddenly swung open. Richard barely managed to jump aside, missing the dangerous wooden "projectile" by a few centimeters.
John, the valet, burst into the office, out of breath. Behind him, Stephen, the driver and bodyguard, loomed in the hallway. John, looking around the room in disbelief, discovered a small mess. Pens, pencils, and cigars lay scattered on the floor. Drawers near the desk were pulled out.
"Sir, forgive me for barging in," he began, "but what happened? We heard a terrible crash."
"Ho-ho, John!" Mr. Rich waved his right hand dismissively at the servant. "Richie was just performing a botched trick. The equipment couldn't handle the load."
The father winked at his son, who rolled his eyes wearily towards the ceiling, after which Mr. Rich added:
"Richie, next time, use stronger fishing line. Or better yet, try experimenting on other furniture. This table is an eighteenth-century rarity, after all."
Richard wanted to curse like an adult, but what was permissible for an ordinary person was not permissible for an aristocrat. Several times, swear words had already escaped his lips, for which he had been spanked-not painfully, but quite humiliatingly.
"Okay, I'm going," Richard squeezed out, after which he left the office.
***
The royal charity reception took place the following Sunday. Richard went there with his father, as he had the previous time.
This time, the elder and younger Richs arrived for the reception an hour early. The palace's sumptuous ballroom was sparsely populated.
The elder Rich began searching for his friend, and his son never left his side. When Prince Charles was discovered, Gerald approached him and said kindly:
- Charlie, hi!
"Oh, G! Nice to see you," the elderly prince greeted his friend with a broad smile. "Hello, Richie."
- Hello, Uncle Charlie.
"How did you get here?" asked the prince.
"Thanks, Charlie, the road was surprisingly clear today. We even got there a lot faster," Gerald replied. "Want a joke?"
"A new joke?" Prince Charles said happily. "You know I love that kind of thing."
"Richie's recently taken up a new hobby-magic. And last Sunday, he claimed to be a magician," the elder Rich said mockingly. "But that's not all. He even staged a trick to prove it-using some kind of trick, he levitated my desk, only to then drop it from a great height. If the desk hadn't been so sturdy, it would have definitely fallen apart under that."
"Amazing," the prince wasn't amused; he was looking at his godson carefully. "Richie, will you show us that trick?"
"It wasn't a trick, Uncle Charlie. I was really angry that my father didn't believe me, so I used a directed magical blast. At least tell him I really am a wizard."