_It isn't at all obvious--at first thought--that
having two perfectly good, usable arms could be a
real handicap to a man...._
"To be, or not to be--that is the question.
Whether 'tis nobler in the mind to suffer
The slings and arrows of outrageous fortune,
Or to take arms ..."
_Hamlet_, Act III, Scene I
The rocket was on the way up, but Professor Lightning didn't seem to
care. 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. The outside
talkers were busy outside the spectacle tents like Wicks' Hell Drivers,
Biggest Auto Show in Fifty States--outside the grind shows, the eats,
the rides: "Here and now, for the fourth part of one single dollar bill,
the most amazing ..." "... Terrifying and strange beings from the
farthest reaches of the Earth who will exhibit ..." "... Dances learned
at the Court of the Sultan, Ay-rab dances right here, right on the
inside, for only--"
And the crowd, filing in, laughed and chattered and shrieked on swooping
rides, the Great Crane, the Space Race, the Merry-Go-Round and the
Horses, threw down money to win a kewpie doll, a Hawaiian lei, a real
life-size imitation scale model of Luna in three real dimensions ...
living it up on the first show, while the rocket climbed on and out, and
bubbled excitement in the blood.
The rocket was up: the carnival was open. But Professor Lightning didn't
seem to care. He sat in the cooktent with his eyes hooded and hidden
under the unshaded glow of a hundred-and-fifty-watt Forever bulb, while
Charley de Milo fidgeted his feet, and listened, and tried to cut the
old man off.
"Look, professor," he said nervously, "why don't we talk about it later?
Table it, till after the show?" He scratched the side of his head with
his left foot. "I got to go on in a couple of minutes," he said. "I can
hear the talker going now. I got to--"
"Forget the show," Professor Lightning said. His voice was flatter and
harsher, and his face more tense, than Charley ever remembered seeing
it. "The show isn't important."