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Updated: May 27, 2025
But when Charley asked what was wrong, he got no answer. Or none that meant anything. "It's just the way things are," Wrout muttered. "Don't make no difference, kid." But it did make a difference.
It was made out for the same pay as he'd been getting, but the option periods were shortened up; suddenly, Charley was living from season to season, with almost no assurance of continuous, steady work. Old man Wrout had looked a little less than happy when he'd given Charley the contract; he'd almost seemed ashamed, and he hadn't really looked Charley in the eye once.
He never thought of the one good argument, and after a while he gave up, and went away. Of course, that was several days later. Professor Lightning told Charley that he was leaving for New York, and Charley said: "What? In the middle of the season?" Then he told Wrout, and Wrout screamed and ranted and swore that Professor Lightning would never work in carny again.
Outside the cooktent Wrout flapped his arms and, on that signal, Seaman started up the big electric band, whooping it up with John Philip Sousa for openers, while all over the midway the lights snapped on, big whites and yellows, reds, greens, purples and dusky violets framing, in a titillating dimness, the front flap of the girlie tent.
"I need a human being just to show the scientific world that my technique works on human beings. And I've worked with you for a number of years now, Charley." "Five," Charley said. "Five since you came with Wrout." "I like you," the professor said. "I want to make you the first, the very first, person to be helped by my technique." Charley shifted his feet.
Charley sighed, very softly so as not to injure the professor's feelings. But he did hope the old man wasn't going to start on all those stories about his lost career again. Charley knew everybody in the Wrout show did that Professor Lightning had been a real professor once, at some college or other. Biology, or Biological Physics, or something else he'd taught classes about it, and done research.
In Brittany he was bleizgarou and denvleiz, formed respectively from bleiz, wolf, and den, man; garou is merely a distorted form of wer or vere, man and loup. In later French the word became waroul, whence the Scotch wrout, wurl, and worlin.
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