"That's right," Roquefort said. "I mean, all these people. And Dr. Schinsake. I remember once, I went to a circus, or a sideshow." "Carnival, probably," Charley put in, knowing exactly what was coming. "Something like that," Roquefort said. "Anyhow, they had this sideshow, and there was a man there without any legs. Did all kinds of tricks--got along real good. But I can't help thinking now: he wouldn't have to get along that way any more. Because this doctor would fix him up." "I guess so," Charley said wearily. "Sure," Roquefort said. "It's a great thing, what he's doing. All these freak shows ... you understand, it'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.