Astounding British Edition, Vol. 9, No. 10 — page 15: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

MEDICINE SHOW “What?” said. “I didn’t understand.” As if they had not heard him, or had forgotten all about him, the two men moved. Each taking an end of the table that held. the panel, they lifted it into the backend of the truck. “Hey! Wait!” They set the table beside the boxes and sacks that contained the seeds. Pienster remained in the truck. Yanvro dropped back to the ground. Harmon seized the man by the shoulder. “T’ve got to know—” That was as far as he got. A new voice was suddenly exploding in the tent, a rough voice, loud and unruly, a demand- ing, arrogant voice, the voice of a man who would not take any answer except his answer. ~ “You've got to do something.” Jason Kemper stood there. It was Jason Kemper who had shouted at Harmon as they carried Donna into the tent. Kemper had a gun in his hand. Harmon looked hastily for the weapon he had taken’ from the sheriff, then remembered he had given it back. “You've got to do something for me, too!” Kemper shouted. The man had the constitution of a horse. The only thing that was wrong with Kemper was his refusal to work. “You can cure yourself,” Harmon said. “There are people in this world who cannot help themselves. They come first, before you.” “I don’t want any arguments out of you, Doc!” Kemper flared. “You can keep your big mouth shut. If these guys can cure old lady Washam’s cancer, and can cure a kid that nobody else thought had a chance to live, they can do a lot of other things, too.” “As Dr. Harmon has suggested, you can eure yourself. However, we might make it possible for you to work better.” In that single statement made on the spur of the moment, Harmon recognized a shrewd and competent diagnostician. “Work!” Kemper spat. “Who said anything about working? That’s for fools! What I want is for you to make me so smart I can get rich without working!” The gun centered on Yanvro. Harmon “And no arguments!” Kemper said. Phut! _The soft sound came from somewhere up above. Glancing around, Harmon caught a glimpse of Pienster, in the truck, hastily putting something back into his pocket. Kemper dropped the gun he was hold- ing. A glazed look appeared in his eyes. Very gently he sat down. Then, as if the effort of sitting erect was too difficult for him,’ he laid down. “Somebody was sure to think that he could use our skill and our knowledge to make himself rich without working,” Yanvro said, apologetically, to Harmon. “But— “As for him, he will be all right in a few hours.” “T don’t care if he lies there until he rots!” Harmon said. “I want to know about you. I want to know about Father Mark’s Remedy.” “We bought this truck and tent from a man who was using that name for the product he was selling,” Yanvro said. “Father Mark’s Remedy was as good as any\other name, so we retained it. If you will get into the truck— “Huh?” Harmon had the impression that this was happening too fast for him. “Why should I get into the truck?” “Perhaps because we are leaving. Per- haps because I ask it,” Yanvro said. “Perhaps because outside this tent there is a milling throng that will become a mob in another few minutes.” “A mob?” “They will burst through this tent like water through a broken dam. They will demand everything, from treatment for hives to potions to make some woman love them. But they will never take into consideration what part they are playing in giving themselves hives, nor will they think to ask whether or not the woman wants to love them. Failing in that, they will fail in everything. If you will get in, please, I will explain while Pienster drives.” Harmon got into the truck. As Pienster, at the wheel, exploded it out of one side of the tent, the mob flowed in the other side. “You see?” Yanvro said, gently. CORMIELOIOOL< (E(o)