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.
Hope blossomed. Perhaps getting the other half of the
map wouldn't be as difficult as Phineas had feared.
"How could I forget the person who saved my life?"
Trapspringer asked, almost offended. "That bone you
gave me is marvelous, almost better than my last one.
I've had nothing but good luck since I got it."
And I've had nothing but bad luck, Phineas thought
to himself, but instead he said, "That's why I'm here,
Mr. Furrfoot."
Trapspringer turned away possessively, his eyes
wide. "You're not here to take it back, are you?"
"Of course not, Mr. Furrfoot!" Phineas assured him
smoothly. "I'm a doctor! I would never jeopardize a
patient's life, no matter what."
"Well, I'm certainly very relieved to hear that. You
shouldn't fool around with a person's good-luck
charm, you know," Trapspringer lectured. "Did you
know that good-luck charms have existed since the be-
ginning of time -- as long as the Towers of High Sor-
cery, anyway. Back then, powerful magicians would
endow worthless pieces of junk with slight magical
abilities, or sometimes just good vibrations." Trap-
springer accompanied his story with appropriately
magical gestures. "Then they would sell them to any-
one who happened by with enough money, just so they
could eat."
"If these magicians were so powerful, why didn't
they just conjure up some food?" Phineas asked,
stumped by the moral of the story.
No kender had ever asked that before. "It's a story,"
Trapspringer replied temperamentally, "it doesn't
have to be logical
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