's just a name for them--"

"I understand," Charley said. "Don't worry about it." He shifted his
feet nervously. Shoes always felt a little uncomfortable, even
lightweight sandals; he felt trapped in them. Now, if he had arms and
hands ...

He choked the thought off before it got any further.

"All these shows," Roquefort said, "why, there isn't any need for them
any more. I mean the people without legs, or arms, anyhow. See? Because
this doctor--"

"I see," Charley said.

"Why, anybody works in a show like that, I mean without arms or
legs--why, he's just crazy, that's all. When he can get help, I mean."

"Sure," Charley said uneasily. "Sure, he's just crazy."

Roquefort chomped on his cigar and looked solemn and well-informed.
Charley shivered slightly, and wondered why.

"Just crazy." Was that what they thought, he wondered. Was that what
they were thinking when they looked up at him?

He shivered again and slipped his shoes off quietly. Immediately, he
felt a little better.

But not very much.

* * * * *

New York was a madhouse worse than any carnival Charley had ever seen.
He made his way, harness and suitcase on his back, through the station
crowds and out into the taxi ramp. A line of the new cabs stood there,
and Charley managed to grab one inches ahead of a woman with a small,
crying child in tow. He gestured to the driver with his head, and the
door slid open. He stepped inside, released the catch that let his
suitcase thump to the floor, and sat down with a sigh.

"Tough, hey?" the cabbie said. His glowing nameplate read _David Peters
Wells_. He turned around, showing a face that had little in common with
the official license photo, under his name. He was swarthy and short,
with large yellowing teeth and tiny eyes. "Where to, Mac?" he said.

Charley licked his lips. "I really don't know," he said.

The cabbie blinked. "What?"

"I'm going to need some help," Charley said. "I want to find a Dr.
Schinsake, but I don't know where he is. If you can drive me to a
drugstore, where we can look him up in a phone book--"

"Dr. Schinsake?" the driver said. "That's the guy who grows things? I
mean, arms and legs? Like that?"

"That's right," Charley said.

"O.K., buddy," the driver said. "Just hang on." The cab started with a
cough and a roar, and shot out of the terminal like a bazooka shell.
Over the noise of travel, the cabbie said: "Going to get yourself fixed