Stranger in a Strange Land

«Oh, dear! We'll give you one more chance. Got it? Get out of here fast — you should be home in bed.» The kid dashed away with the money. The magician frowned. «Madame Merlin, what should we do now?»

His assistant whispered to him, he shook his head. «Not in front of all these people?»

She whispered again; he sighed. «Friends, Madame Merlin wants to go to bed. Will any of you gentlemen help her?»

He blinked at the rush. «Oh, too many! Were any of you in the Army?»

There were still many volunteers; Dr. Apollo picked two and said, «There's an army cot under the platform, just lift the canvas — now, will you set it up on the platform? Madame Merlin, face this way, please.»

While the men set up the cot, Dr. Apollo made passes in the air. «Sleep … sleep … you are asleep. Friends, she is in deep trance. Will you gentlemen who prepared her bed now place her on it? Careful — » In corpselike rigidity the girl was transferred to the cot.

«Thank you, gentlemen.» The magician recovered his wand from the air, pointed to a table at the end of his platform; a sheet detached itself from piled props and came to him. «Spread this over her. Cover her head, a lady should not be stared at while sleeping. Thank you. If you will step down — Fine! Madame Merlin … can you hear me?»

«Yes, Doctor Apollo.»

«You were heavy with sleep. Now you feel lighter. You are sleeping on clouds. You are floating — » The sheet-covered form raised about a foot. «Wups! Don't get too light.»

A boy explained in a whisper, «When they put the sheet over her, she went down through a trap door. That's just a wire framework. He'll flip the sheet away and the framework collapses and disappears. Anybody could do it.»

Dr. Apollo ignored him. «Higher, Madame Merlin. Higher. There — » The draped form floated six feet above the platform.

The youngster whispered. «There's a steel rod you can't see. It's where that corner of the sheet hangs down and touches the cot.»

Dr. Apollo requested volunteers to remove the cot. «She doesn't need it, she sleeps on clouds.» He faced the floating form and appeared to listen. «Louder, please. Oh? She says she doesn't want the sheet.»

(«Here's where the framework disappears.»)

The magician snatched the sheet away; the audience hardly noticed that it disappeared; they were looking at Madame Merlin, sleeping six feet above the platform. A companion of the boy who knew all about magic said, «Where's the steel rod?»

The kid said, «You have to look where he doesn't want you to. It's the way they've got those lights fixed to shine in your eyes.»

Dr. Apollo said, «That's enough, fair princess. Give me your hand. Wake up!» He pulled her erect and helped her step down to the platform.

(«You saw where she put her foot?That's where the rod went.» The kid added with satisfaction, «Just a gimmick.»)

The magician went on, «And now, friends, kindly give your attention to our learned lecturer, Professor Timoshenko — »

The talker cut in. «Don't go 'way! For this one performance only by arrangement with the Council of Universities and the Department of Safety of this wonderful city, we offer this twenty-dollar bill absolutely free to any one of you — »

The tip was turned into the blow-off; carnies started packing for tear-down. There was a train jump in the morning, living tops would remain up for sleep, but canvas boys were loosening stakes on the sideshow top.

The talker-owner-manager came back into the top, having rushed the blow-off and spilled the marks out the rear. «Smitty, don't go 'way.» He handed the magician an envelope and added, «Kid, I hate to tell you — but you and your wife ain't going to Paducah.»

«I know.»

«Look, it's nothing personal — I got to think of the show. We're getting a mentalist team. They do a top reading act, then she runs a phrenology and mitt camp while he makes with the mad ball. You know you didn't have no season's guarantee.»

«I know,» agreed the magician. «No hard feelings, Tim.»

«Well, I'm glad you feel that way.» The talker hesitated. «Smitty, want some advice?»

«I would like to have your advice,» the magician said simply.

«Okay. Smitty, your tricks are good. But tricks don't make a magician. You're not really with it. You behave like a camie — you mind your own business and never crab anybody's act and you're helpful. But you're not a carnie. You don't have any feeling for what makes a chump a chump. A real magician can make the marks open their mouths by picking a quarter out of the air. That levitation you do — I've never seen it done better but the marks don't warm to it. No psychology. Now take me, I can't even pick a quarter out of the air. I got no act — except that one that counts. I know marks. I know what he hungers for, even if he don't. That's showmanship, son, whether you're a politician, a preacher pounding a pulpit — or a magician. Find out what the chumps want and you can leave half your props in your trunk.»

«I'm sure you're right.»