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Updated: June 7, 2025
Dave milked them for all they were worth, and Charley nodded quietly to himself. Dave was a good carny man. He worked for the good of the show. Or did he? Dave had taken him off the bally. Did Dave have some reason to hate him? Could Dave be out to get him? Charley couldn't think why, but it was a lead, the only one he had.
It was too bad that the professor didn't think of the one argument that might have worked. In the long run, it wouldn't have made any difference, perhaps but it would have cleared matters up, right there and then. Because the one workable argument had a good chance of succeeding. But, then, Professor Lightning really didn't understand carny.
After all, the old guy didn't drink or anything really serious; if he wanted to play around with test tubes and even Bunsen burners, people figured, why, let him. But Professor Lightning thought nobody knew. Well, he had been a real professor once, which is to say a square. Some people never really adjusted to carny life where everybody knows everything.
Anthony on his gridiron, and rolled his eye-balls up toward the dark bed; and uttered a dismal groan, and thought of the three inexorable fates, Carny, Nutter, and Dyle, who at that moment held among them the measure, and the thread, and the shears of his destiny: and standing desperately in the dark at the verge of the abyss, he mentally hurled the three ugly spirits together into his bag, and flung them whirling through the mirk into the lake that burns with fire and brimstone.
People just didn't care; he wasn't a draw any more. And his standing with the carny was all he had left. He had caught himself, lately, wondering if he would really be so badly off with two arms, like everybody else. The idea frightened him, but the way it kept coming back frightened him even more.
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