light from the hall sliced over the patchy wallpaper as he opened the door.
There was a whisper from the bed. “Stan—”
“What is it?”
“Come kiss your old pal good night.”
He stepped over, kissed her cheek and left without another word, closing the door softly behind him.
The lock of his own door sounded like a rifle shot.
He looked each way along the hall but nothing stirred.
Inside, he tore off his clothes, went to the washbowl and washed and then threw himself down on the bed, propping the book on his bare stomach.
The first pages were taken up with figures and notations:
“Evansport. July 20th. Books—$33.00 taken in. Paid—Plants at $2—$6.00. Plants: Mrs. Jerome Hotchkiss. Leonard Keely, Josiah Boos. All okay. Old spook workers. Boos looks like deacon. Can act a little. Worked the found ring in the coat lining …”
“Spook workers” must refer to the local confederates employed by traveling mediums. Swiftly Stan flipped the pages. More expenses: “F. T. rap squared. Chief Pellett. $50.” That would be an arrest on a charge of fortune telling.
Stan felt like Ali Baba in the cavern of riches left by the Forty Thieves.
Impatiently he turned to the back of the book. On the last page was a heading: “Common Questions.” Beneath it was a list, with figures:
“Is my husband true to me? 56, 29, 18, 42.
“Will mother get well? 18, 3, 7, 12.
“Who poisoned our dog? 3, 2, 3, 0, 3.” Beside this was the notation, “Not a big item but a steady. Every audience. Can pull as cold reading during stall part of act.”
The figures, then, were a record of the number of similar questions collected from the same audience. The question “Is my wife faithful?” had only about a third the number of entries as the one about the husband.
“The chumps,” Stan whispered. “Either too bashful to ask or too dumb to suspect.” But they were anxious to find out, all of them. As if jazzing wasn’t what they all want, the goddamned hypocrites. They all want it. Only nobody else must have it. He turned the page.
“There is a recurring pattern followed by the questions asked. For every unusual question there will be fifty that you have had before. Human nature is the same everywhere. All have the same troubles. They are worried. Can control anybody by finding out what he’s afraid of. Works with question-answering act. Think out things most people are afraid of and hit them right where they live. Health, Wealth, Love. And Travel and Success. They’re all afraid of ill health, of poverty, of boredom, of failure. Fear is the key to human nature. They’re afraid….”
Stan looked past the pages to the garish wallpaper and through it into the world. The geek was made by fear. He was afraid of sobering up and getting the horrors. But what made him a drunk? Fear. Find out what they are afraid of and sell it back to them. That’s the key. The key! He had known it when Clem Hoately had told him how geeks are made. But here was Pete saying the same thing:
Health. Wealth. Love. Travel. Success. “A few have to do with domestic troubles, in-laws, kids, pets. And so on. A few wisenheimers but you can ditch them easily enough. Idea: combine question-answering act with code act. Make list of questions, hook up with code numbers. Answer vague at first, working toward definite. If can see face of spectator and tell when hitting.”
On the following pages was a neatly numbered list of questions. There were exactly a hundred. Number One was “Is my husband true to me?” Number Two was “Will I get a job soon?”
Outside the front of Ayres’ Department Store had turned rosy-red with the coming sun. Stan paid it no heed. The sun slid up, the sound of wagon tires on concrete told of the awakening city. At ten o’clock there was a tap on the door. Stan shook himself. “Yes?”
Zeena’s voice. “Wake up, sleepy head. Rise and shine.”
He unlocked the door and let her in.
“What you got the light on
There was a whisper from the bed. “Stan—”
“What is it?”
“Come kiss your old pal good night.”
He stepped over, kissed her cheek and left without another word, closing the door softly behind him.
The lock of his own door sounded like a rifle shot.
He looked each way along the hall but nothing stirred.
Inside, he tore off his clothes, went to the washbowl and washed and then threw himself down on the bed, propping the book on his bare stomach.
The first pages were taken up with figures and notations:
“Evansport. July 20th. Books—$33.00 taken in. Paid—Plants at $2—$6.00. Plants: Mrs. Jerome Hotchkiss. Leonard Keely, Josiah Boos. All okay. Old spook workers. Boos looks like deacon. Can act a little. Worked the found ring in the coat lining …”
“Spook workers” must refer to the local confederates employed by traveling mediums. Swiftly Stan flipped the pages. More expenses: “F. T. rap squared. Chief Pellett. $50.” That would be an arrest on a charge of fortune telling.
Stan felt like Ali Baba in the cavern of riches left by the Forty Thieves.
Impatiently he turned to the back of the book. On the last page was a heading: “Common Questions.” Beneath it was a list, with figures:
“Is my husband true to me? 56, 29, 18, 42.
“Will mother get well? 18, 3, 7, 12.
“Who poisoned our dog? 3, 2, 3, 0, 3.” Beside this was the notation, “Not a big item but a steady. Every audience. Can pull as cold reading during stall part of act.”
The figures, then, were a record of the number of similar questions collected from the same audience. The question “Is my wife faithful?” had only about a third the number of entries as the one about the husband.
“The chumps,” Stan whispered. “Either too bashful to ask or too dumb to suspect.” But they were anxious to find out, all of them. As if jazzing wasn’t what they all want, the goddamned hypocrites. They all want it. Only nobody else must have it. He turned the page.
“There is a recurring pattern followed by the questions asked. For every unusual question there will be fifty that you have had before. Human nature is the same everywhere. All have the same troubles. They are worried. Can control anybody by finding out what he’s afraid of. Works with question-answering act. Think out things most people are afraid of and hit them right where they live. Health, Wealth, Love. And Travel and Success. They’re all afraid of ill health, of poverty, of boredom, of failure. Fear is the key to human nature. They’re afraid….”
Stan looked past the pages to the garish wallpaper and through it into the world. The geek was made by fear. He was afraid of sobering up and getting the horrors. But what made him a drunk? Fear. Find out what they are afraid of and sell it back to them. That’s the key. The key! He had known it when Clem Hoately had told him how geeks are made. But here was Pete saying the same thing:
Health. Wealth. Love. Travel. Success. “A few have to do with domestic troubles, in-laws, kids, pets. And so on. A few wisenheimers but you can ditch them easily enough. Idea: combine question-answering act with code act. Make list of questions, hook up with code numbers. Answer vague at first, working toward definite. If can see face of spectator and tell when hitting.”
On the following pages was a neatly numbered list of questions. There were exactly a hundred. Number One was “Is my husband true to me?” Number Two was “Will I get a job soon?”
Outside the front of Ayres’ Department Store had turned rosy-red with the coming sun. Stan paid it no heed. The sun slid up, the sound of wagon tires on concrete told of the awakening city. At ten o’clock there was a tap on the door. Stan shook himself. “Yes?”
Zeena’s voice. “Wake up, sleepy head. Rise and shine.”
He unlocked the door and let her in.
“What you got the light on
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