r. Erma had ten customers, Charley noticed, and
he grabbed a handkerchief from the platform floor and wiped his damp
face with one foot.

* * * * *

_Something's wrong_, he thought stupidly, and he must have said it aloud
because, at his feet, a high, thin old voice said: "What was that, son?
Did you say something?"

"Nothing at all," Charley mumbled, and looked down. The Santa Claus man
was staring up at him. "Show's over," Charley said, more curtly than he
meant. He took a deep breath and set his feet more firmly on the
platform, but it didn't do any good. He was like a coiled spring,
waiting for release.

"I don't expect any show," Santa Claus said. "Really I don't. But I did
want to talk to you for a few minutes, if you don't mind."

"I'm not in a talking mood," Charley said. "Sorry." He was ashamed of
the words as soon as he brought them out; that was no way to treat any
stranger, not even a mark. But it was a long second before he could say
anything else. Santa Claus stood watching him patiently, holding
Charley's sketch by one corner in his left hand.

"I'm sorry," Charley said at last. "It ... must be the heat. I'm kind of
on edge."

"Of course," Santa Claus said. "I understand. Really I do."

There was a little silence. Dave and the crowd trailed away from Erma
and headed for Senor Alcala, the fire-eater at the end of the row.
Charley barely heard Dave's spiel; he licked his lips and said: "You
wanted to talk to me."

"Now," Santa Claus said, "I don't want you to be ashamed of anything.
There's nothing personal in this, really there isn't. But I do want to
help if I can, help anyone who needs help."

"I don't need help," Charley said. "I'm sorry." He tried to keep his
voice gentle. The old man obviously meant well; there was no sense in
hurting him.

"It's your ... infirmity," Santa Claus said. "Boy, have they been
keeping the news from you?"

"News?" Charley said, with a sudden sick feeling.

"In New York," Santa Claus said. "There's a doctor there--a man who can
help people like you. He has a new technique. I was reading in the
papers just the other day--there was a man injured in a railroad
accident, who lost one arm and one leg. This doctor used him as his
first subject."

"He said he'd find another one," Charley put in without thinking.

"Another?"

"It doesn't matter," Charley said. "You were going to suggest that I go
and see this doctor. Is that right