he eyes
said that, and were proud of it. And the world agreed with Dr.
Schinsake.

Charley came into the bright room and stood quietly until Dr. Schinsake
asked him to sit down.

"Well, now, my boy," he said. "You haven't given me a word since you
rang the bell, and I would like to know why you're here. Frankly, you're
lucky to catch me in; but we were up late last night, working in the
labs. I'm afraid I overslept a little." His eyes shone with the mention
of his laboratories. It was a far cry from the back of the science tent,
Charley supposed.

But he'd come for a definite purpose. He licked his lips, waited a
second, and said: "Professor, it's about my arms. What you said you
could do."

"Your arms?" The old man frowned. "Now? You've come to me ... Charley,
my boy, tell me why. Tell me why you have changed your mind now."

Charley nodded. "I ... I didn't start out here to ask you about my
arms," he said. "But on the way I started putting things together.
Professor, why do people come to side-shows?"

The old man shrugged. "Entertainment," he said.

"Sure, but there are all kinds of entertainment," Charley said. "Like
strong men. There used to be a lot of strong men in carnivals, but there
aren't any more. And now I know why. Ed Baylis started to tell me, but I
... well, never mind."

"Charley," the old man said. "What do strong men have to do with--"

"Let me tell you, professor," Charley said. "People don't care about
strong men any more; there are too many gadgets around. Nobody has to be
a strong man; nobody wants to watch one. They're useless. See?"

"Everyone can be his own strong man," the old man said.

"Right," Charley said. "The chain hoist--machines like that--they killed
off the whole act. Years ago. And you've killed off the Armless Wonders
and the Legless Wonders, professor. You've done it, all at once."

Professor Lightning shook his head. "I don't see--" he began.

"Anybody can grow new arms," Charley said. "So the man without
arms--he's not an object of pity any more. He's just some guy who
doesn't want to work. Nobody wants to go and see him; let him grow arms,
if he doesn't want to be called a lazy bum. See?"

There was a little silence.

"I see," Professor Lightning said slowly. "Without pity, without a
strong sense of identification, there is no audience."

"For me there isn't," Charley said. "Or for anybody like me."

Professor Lightning nodded. "Well," he said. "I hardly me