Nightmare Alley Read Online Free PDF Page B

what happens to them when we roll them up. One, two, three, four, five, six. All present and accounted for. Into a roll—” He placed the bills in his left hand, slipping them into the vanisher. “Blow on the hand—” The vanisher, released, thudded softly against his hip under his coat. “Lo and behold! Gone!”
    There was a scattering of applause, as if they were a little ashamed of it. The chumps.
    “Where did they go? You know, day after day I stand here— wondering just where they do go!” That’s Thurston’s gag. By God, I’m going to use it until I see one face—just one—in this bunch of rubes that gets the point. They never do. But that dollar bill production goes over. Poverty-struck bastards—they all wish they could do it. Make money out of the air. Only that’s not the way I make mine. But it’s better than real estate. My old man and his deals. Church vestryman on Sundays, con man the rest of the week. Frig him, the Bible-spouting bastard.
    “Now then, if I can have your attention for a moment. I have here a bunch of steel rings. Each and every one of them a separate, solid hoop of steel. I have one, two, three-four, five, six-seveneight. Right? Now I take two. Tap ’em. Joined together! Would you take these, madam, and tell me if you can find any joints or signs of an opening? No? Thank you. All solid. And again, two separate rings. Go! Joined!”
    Better speed it up, they’re getting restless. This is the life, though. Everyone looking at you. How does he do it? Gosh, that’s slick. Trying to figure it out. It’s magic to them, all right. This is the life. While they’re watching and listening you can tell ’em anything. They believe you. You’re a magician. Pass solid rings through each other. Pull dollars out of the air. Magic. You’re top man—while you keep talking.
    “And now, folks, eight separate and distinct rings; yet by a magic word they fly together and are joined inextricably into a solid mass. There you are! I thank you for your kind attention. Now I have here a little booklet that’s worth its weight in gold. Here is a collection of magic tricks that you can do—an hour’s performance before your club, lodge, or church gathering or in your own parlor. An hour’s practice—a lifetime of fun, magic, and mystery. This book formerly sold for a dollar, but for today I’m going to let you have it for two bits—a quarter of a dollar. Let’s hurry it up, folks, because I know you all want to see and hear Madam Zeena, the seeress, and her act does not go on until everyone who wants one of these great books gets one. Thank you, sir. And you. Any more? Right.
    “Now then, folks, don’t go ’way. The next complete show will not start for twenty minutes. I call your attention to the next platform. Madam Zeena—miracle woman of the ages. She sees, she knows, she tells you the innermost secrets of your past, your present, and your future. Madam Zeena!”
    Stan jumped down lightly from his own small platform and pushed through the crowd to a miniature stage draped in maroon velvet. A woman had stepped out from between the curtains. The crowd flowed over and stood waiting, looking up at her, some of the faces absently chewing, hands cupping popcorn into mouths.
    The woman was tall, dressed in flowing white with astrological symbols embroidered on the hem of her robe. A cascade of brassy blond hair fell down her back and a band of gilt leather studded with glass jewels was around her forehead. When she raised her arms the loose sleeves fell back. She had large bones, but her arms were white and capable-looking, with a spattering of freckles. Her eyes were blue, her face round, and her mouth a shade too small, so that she looked a trifle like an elaborate doll. Her voice was low-pitched with a hearty ring to it.
    “Step right up, folks, and don’t be bashful. If there’s any of you that want to ask me a question Mr. Stanton is now passing among you with little cards and