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Updated: June 29, 2025
"It might if it was touted right," said Tinker. "It all depends on the touting. If you get it touted to the tank towns that you've got a play with the great religious gonzabo, then your show's a big property. Same if you get it touted for a great educational gonzabo. Or 'artistic. Get it touted right for 'artistic, and the tanks'll think they like it, even if they don't.
"You're a simple country boy, and don't know any better, so do it plumb serious. You'll be smart enough before the show's over. Go ahead, get out, grab the weight, throw it down, and don't look at it again, as if you did this every time. That's it. You're not being funny; just a simple country boy like Wayne was at first." He performed the action, still with some slight misgiving.
He had been up late last night, and, in spite of the fair weather, he was feeling a trifle on edge. "'In the words of Omar of Khayyam' . . ." Mr Goble clapped his hands. "Cut that 'of," he said. "The show's too long, anyway." And, having handled a delicate matter in masterly fashion, he leaned back in his chair and chewed the end off another cigar.
The plasmoid lay still again. After a minute it was still lying still. "Show's over for the moment, I guess," said the Commissioner. "I'm afraid so," said Professor Mantelish. His big hands went away from Trigger's aching shoulders. "You startled it, Trigger!" he boomed at her accusingly.
Nash hesitated, tolerantly, gaily, as he often did, with an air of being embarrassed to choose between several answers, any one of which would be so right. "Oh having something to show's such a poor business. It's a kind of confession of failure." "Yes, you're more affected than anything else," said Nick impatiently. "No, my dear boy, I'm more good-natured: don't I prove it?
Not a person was in sight as Phil entered the tent, making his way slowly down the concourse. He paused half-way down, seating himself on a grandstand chair in one of the arena boxes, where he thought over the latest exploit of the show's enemy. "This time they were not after me, but after the outfit itself," he muttered. "That is the time the fellow showed his hand, and it gives me an idea.
She was attractive, wearing the uniform of a System Security officer Chief of Detectives, from her badge except that she was more than slim, she looked damned near starved. "How do you feel about the Kins who were killed, Chief Kaufman, and what do you plan to do with the ones who killed them?" a man Thompson guessed him to be the show's host asked. The woman shrugged slightly.
He ordered something hot hastily, and, when it came, though he had had his own lunch already, he played a little with a knife and fork himself for show's sake, in order not to seem as if he were merely looking on while Selah was eating.
"But bossing the show's one of me few talents; an' I'm not for wrapping it in a napkin. Geoff swears I took over charge of creation before I'd cut me first tooth! Any way it struck me that perhaps in the hustle of starting you'd not thought of sending full instructions; so I just came over this morning, and made free with your linen cupboard, an' your bazaar account.
"Did it tell how a freckled cow-punch rode a fat tinhorn on his spurs?" asked Hart. "Bet he wears stovepipes on his laigs next time he mixes it with Dave," suggested one coffee-brown youth. "Well, looks like the show's over for to-night. I'm gonna roll in." Motion carried unanimously. Wakened by the gong, Dave lay luxuriously in the warmth of his blankets.
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