"And more fundamental discoveries," the professor said. "Chadwick's Law
of Dimensionality, Dvedkin and the Ontological Mean ... oh, I keep up
with the literature. No matter what's happened to me, I keep up with the
literature."

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. And then there
had been something about a girl, a student the professor had got himself
involved with. Though it was pretty hard to imagine the professor,
white-haired and thin the way he was now, chasing after a girl.

He'd been fired, or something, and he'd drifted for a while and then got
himself an act and come with a Carnival. Charley knew the whole story.
He didn't want to hear it again.

But the professor said: "I'm as good as I ever was--better than I ever
was, my boy. I've been keeping up, doing experiments. I've been quiet
about it."

Everybody, Charley thought, knew about Professor Lightning and his
experiments. If they kept the old man happy, kept him contented and
doing shows, why not? After all, the old guy didn't drink or anything
really serious; if he wanted to play around with test tubes and even
Bunsen burners, people figured, why, let him.

But Professor Lightning thought nobody knew. Well, he had been a real
professor once, which is to say a square. Some people never really
adjusted to carny life--where everybody knows everything.

Charley figured maybe it was better to act surprised. "Really?" he said.
"Experiments?"

Professor Lightning looked pleased, which satisfied Charley. "I've been
on the track of something big," he said. He seemed to be talking more to
himself than to Charley. "Something new," he said. "And at last ... at
last, my boy, I've found it. I'll be famous, Charley, famous--and so
will you!"

"That's nice," Charley said politely. Then he blinked. "But what do you
mean," he added, "me?"

"I want you to help me," the professor said. He leaned forward, and in
the dim light of the tent's single lamp, his eyes glittered. "I want you
to come with me."

"Come with you?" Charley said, and swallowed hard. He'd never thought,
the way some did, that the old