* * * * * The crowd, still roaring its ambiguous cheer, was following the procession out the other end of the square, and shortly Hugh found himself standing almost alone. A sign over a nearby shop caught his eye: _Dr. ffoni, Licensed Magician_. Here was what he had been looking for. As he ran quickly across the square toward the rickety building, he thought he caught a glimpse out of the tail of his eyes of a top hat moving along in the departing crowd; but he dismissed it. That could wait. The shop was dark inside, and at first he thought it empty. But in answer to repeated shouts a scrambling began in the back room, and a nondescript little man entered, struggling into a long dark gown several sizes too large for him. "Sorry," he puffed, trying to regain his right hand, which he had lost down the wrong sleeve, "out watching the parade. May I serve you, young sir?" "Yes. I'm a transportee, and I'd like to get back where I belong." "So would we all, so would we all, indeed," said the magician, nodding vigorously. "Junior!" "Yes, paw." A gawky adolescent peered out of the back room. "Customer." "Ah, paw, I don wanna go in t' any trance. I'm dragging a rag-bag to a rat-race t'night an' I wanna be groovy. You know prognostics allus knock me flatter'n a mashed-potato san'witch." "You'll do as you're told, or I'll not allow you to use the broomstick. You see, young sir," the magician addressed Hugh, "familiar spirits are at somewhat of a premium around here, there being so many in this town in my profession; but since my wife was a Sybil, my son serves me adequately in commissions of this nature." He turned back to the boy, who was now sitting on a stool behind the counter, and produced a pink lollipop from the folds of his robe. The boy allowed it to be placed in his mouth docilely enough, and closed his eyes. Hugh watched, not knowing whether to laugh or to swear. If this idiotic procedure produced results, he was sure he'd never be able to contemplate Planck's Constant seriously again. "Now then, while we're waiting," the sorcerer continued, "you should understand the situation. All living has two sides, the IN-side and the OUT-side. The OUT-side is where the roots of significant mistakes are embedded; the IN-side where they flower. Since most men have their backs turned to the OUT-side all their lives, few mistakes can be rectified. But if a man be turned, as if on a pivot, so that he face the other way, he may see and be on the OUT-side, and have the opportunity to uproot his error if he can find the means. Such a fortunate man is a transportee." "So, in effect, existence has just been given a half-turn around me, to put me facing outside instead of inside where I belong?"