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cried if he’d heard that one.
     
    Archroy stood alone upon his allotment patch, pipe jammed firmly between his teeth and grey swirls of smoke escaping the bowl at regulated intervals. His thumbs were clasped into his waistcoat pockets and there was a purposeful set to his features. Archroy was lost in thought. The sun sinking behind the chemical factory painted his features with a ruddy hue, the naturally anaemic Archroy appearing for once to look in the peak of health. Sighing heavily he withdrew from his pockets the five magic beans. Turning them again and again in his hand he wondered at their appearance.
    They certainly were, how had the tramp put it, beans of great singularity. Of their shape, it could be said that they were irregular. Certainly but for their hue and texture they presented few similarities. There was a tropical look to them; they seemed also if held in certain lights to show some slight signs of luminescence.
    Yes they were singular beans indeed, but magic? The tramp had hinted that the term was somewhat open-ended to say the least. Beanstalk material perhaps? That was too obvious, thought Archroy, some other magic quality then? Could these beans cure leprosy, impassion virgins, bestow immortality? Could beans such as these unburden a man of a suspect spouse?
    Archroy held up the largest of the beans and squinted at it in perplexity. Surely it was slightly larger, slightly better formed than it had been upon his last inspection. He knelt down and placed the beans in a row upon the top of his tobacco tin. “Well I never did,” said Archroy, “now there is a thing.”
    Suddenly Archroy remembered a science fiction film he had seen on the television at the New Inn. These seed pods came down from outer space and grew into people, then while you were asleep they took over your mind. He had never understood what had happened to the real people when their duplicates took over. Still, it had been a good film and it made him feel rather uneasy. He examined each bean in turn. None resembled him in the least, except for one that had a bit on it that looked a little like the lobe of his right ear. “Good Lord,” said Archroy, “say it isn’t true.”
    “It’s not true,” said John Omally, who was developing a useful knack of sneaking up on folk.
    “John,” said Archroy, who had seen Omally coming, “how much would you give me for five magic beans?”
    Omally took up one of the suspect items and turned it on his palm. “Have you as yet discovered in what way their magic properties manifest themselves?”
    “Sadly no,” said Archroy, “I fear that I may not have the time to develop the proposition to any satisfactory extent, being an individual sorely put upon by the fates to the degree that I have hardly a minute to myself nowadays.”
    “That is a great shame,” said John, who knew a rat when somebody thrust one up his nose for a sniff. “Their value I feel would be greatly enhanced if their use could be determined. In their present state I doubt that they are worth more than the price of a pint.”
    Archroy sniffed disdainfully, his trusty Morris Minor exchanged for the price of a pint, the injustice of it. “I have a feeling that large things may be expected of these beans, great oaks from little acorns as it were.”
    “There is little of the acorn in these beans,” said Omally. “More of the mango, I think, or possibly the Amazonian sprout.”
    “Exotic fruit and veg are always at a premium,” said Archroy. “Especially when home grown, on an allotment such as this perhaps.”
    Omally nodded thoughtfully. “I will tell you what I will do Archroy,” said he. “We will go down to my plot, select a likely spot and there under your supervision we shall plant one of these magic beans, we will nurture it with loving care, water it when we think fit and generally pamper its growth until we see what develops. We will both take this moment a solemn vow that neither of us will uproot it or