But not a grain of powder came out.

He pulled off the cover, glanced within, and then threw the bottle from him with a wail of despair.
"Gone--gone! Every bit gone," he cried.

"Wasted on that miserable phonograph when it might have saved my dear wife!" Then the Magician bowed his head on his crooked arms and began to cry.
Ojo was sorry for him.

He went up to the sorrowful man and said softly: "You can make more Powder of Life, Dr.Pipt." "Yes; but it will take me six years--six long, weary years of stirring four kettles with both feet and both hands," was the agonized reply.
"Six years! while poor Margolotte stands watching me as a marble image." "Can't anything else be done ?" asked the Patchwork Girl.
The Magician shook his head.

Then he seemed to remember something and looked up.
"There is one other compound that would destroy the magic spell of the Liquid of Petrifaction and restore my wife and Unc Nunkie to life," said he.