timelessness of an idealized Methuselah as he approached his ninth
centennial, the God-given wisdom engraved on the face of Moses as he
came down from Sinai, the mystic power of mighty Merlin as he softly
intoned a spell of albamancy, all these seemed to have been blended
carefully together and infused into the man who sat behind the typer,
composing sentences in his head.

Those gull-hands swooped suddenly to the keyboard, and the aged
machine clattered rapidly for nearly a minute before Dr. Joachim
paused again to consider his next words.

A bell tinkled softly.

Dr. Joachim's brown eyes glanced quickly at the image on the
black-and-white TV screen set in the wall. It was connected to the
hidden camera in his front room, and showed a woman entering his front
door. He sighed and rose from his seat, adjusting his blue robes
carefully before he went to the door that led into the outer room.

He'd rather hoped it was a client, but--

"Hello, Susan, my dear," he said in a soft baritone, as he stepped
through the door. "What seems to be the trouble?"

It wasn't the same line that he'd have used with a client. You don't
ask a mark questions; you tell him. To a mark, he'd have said: "Ah,
you are troubled." It sounds much more authoritative and all-knowing.

But Cherrie Tart--_nee_ Sue Kowalski--was one of the best strippers on
the Boardwalk. Her winters were spent in Florida or Nevada or Puerto
Rico, but in summer she always returned to King Frankie's _Golden
Surf_, for the summer trade at Coney Island. She might be a big name
in show business now, but she had never forgotten her carny
background, and King Frankie, in spite of the ultra-ultra tone of the
_Golden Surf_, still stuck to the old Minsky traditions.

The worried look on her too-perfect face had been easily visible in
the TV screen, but it had been replaced by a bright smile as soon as
she had heard Dr. Joachim opening the door. The smile flickered for a
moment, then she said: "Gee, Doc; you give a girl the creepy feeling
that you really _can_ read her mind."

Dr. Joachim merely smiled. Susan might be with it, but a good mitt man
doesn't give away _all_ his little secrets. He had often wished that
he could really read minds--he had heard rumors of men who could--but
a little well-applied psychology is sometimes just as good.

"So how's everything been, Doc?" She smiled her best stage
smile--every tooth perfect in that perfect face, her hair framing the