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chair and a large collection of Indian arrow heads.
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Mr. Scott must have talked about the latter when he got home, for a week later his nine-year-old son said
to him, Hey, Dad, you know that old guy you unloaded Peak House onto?
Rented is the only proper expression, Bobby.
Well, I went up to see his arrow heads. Dad, it turns out he s a snake-charmer!
Dear God, thought Mr. Scott, / knew there was going to be something really impossible about Leverett.
Probably like hilltops because they draw snakes in hot weather.
He didn t charm a real snake, though, Dad, just an old extension cord. He squatted down on the floor
this was after he showed me those crumby arrow heads and waved his hands back and forth over it and
pretty soon the end with the little box on it started to move around on the floor and all of a sudden it
lifted up, like a cobra out of a basket. It was real spooky!
I ve seen that sort of trick, Mr. Scott told Bobby. There s a fine thread attached to the end of the wire
pulling it up.
I d have seen a thread, Dad.
Not if it were the same color as the background, Mr. Scott explained. Then he had a thought. By the
way Bobby, was the other end of the cord plugged in?
Oh it was, Dad! He said he couldn t work the trick unless there was electricity in the cord. Because you
see, Dad, he s really an electricity-charmer. I just said snake-charmer to make it more exciting.
Afterwards we went outside and he charmed electricity down out of the wires and made it crawl all over
his body. You could see it crawl from part to part.
But how could you see that? Mr. Scott demanded, struggling to keep his voice casual. He had a vision
of Mr. Leverett standing dry and sedate, entwined by glimmering blue serpents with flashing diamond
eyes and fangs that sparked.
By the way it would make his hair stand on end, Dad. First on one side of his head, then on the other.
Then he said, Electricity, crawl down my chest, and a silk handkerchief hanging out of his top pocket
stood out stiff and sharp. Dad, it was almost as good as the Museum of Science and Industry!
Next day Mr. Scott dropped by Peak House, but he got no chance to ask his carefully thought-out
questions, for Mr. Leverett greeted him with, Reckon your boy told you about the little magic show I
put on for him yesterday. I like children, Mr. Scott. Good Republican children like yours, that is.
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best of fritz leiber
Why yes, he did, Mr. Scott admitted, disarmed and a bit flustered by the other s openness.
I only showed him the simplest tricks, of course. Kid stuff.
Of course, Mr. Scott echoed. I guessed you must have used a fine thread to make the extension cord
dance.
Reckon you know all the answers, Mr. Scott, the other said, his eyes flashing. But come across to the
patio and sit for a while.
The buzzing was quite loud that day, yet after a bit Mr. Scott had to admit to himself that it was a restful
sound. And it had more variety than he d realized mounting crackles, fading sizzles, hisses, hums,
clicks, sighs: If you listened to it long enough, you probably would begin to hear voices.
Mr. Leverett, silently rocking, said, Electricity tells me about all the work it does and all the fun it has
dances, singing, big crackling band concerts, trips to the stars, foot races that make rockets seem like
snails. Worries, too. You know that electric breakdown they had in New York? Electricity told me why.
Some of its folks went crazy-overwork, I guess and just froze. It was a while before they could send
others hi from outside New York and heal the crazy ones and start them moving again through the big
copper web. Electricity tells me it s fearful the same thing s going to happen in Chicago and San
Francisco. Too much pressure.
Electricity doesn t mind working for us. It s generous-hearted and it loves its job. But it would be
grateful for a little more consideration a little more recognition of its special problems.
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