"I don't--" said Will's father.
"You know them."
The Illustrated Man's hands shook, held out to view, asking for the gift of names, making Jim's face on the flesh, Will's face on the flesh, Jim's face hidden beneath the street, Will's face hidden beneath the street, tremble, writhe, pinch.
"Sir, you wouldn't want them to lose out ...?"
"No, but--"
"But, but, but?" Mr. Dark loomed closer, magnificent in his picture-gallery flesh, his eyes, the eyes of all his beasts and hapless creatures cutting through his shirt, coat, trousers, fastening the old man tight, biting him with fire, fixing him with thousandfold attentions. Mr. Dark shoved his two palms near. "But?"
Mr. Halloway needing something to excruciate, bit his cigar. "I thought for a moment--"
"Thought what?" Grand delight from Mr. Dark.
"One of them looked like--"
"Like who?"
Too eager, thought Will. You see that, Dad, don't you?
"Mister," said Will's father. "Why are you so jumpy about two boys?"
"Jumpy ...?"
Mr. Dark's smile melted like cotton candy.
Jim scootched himself down into a dwarf, Will crammed himself down into a midget, both looking up, waiting.
"Sir," said Mr. Dark, "is my enthusiasm that to you? Jumpy?"
Will's father noted the muscles cord along the arms, roping and unroping themselves with a writhe like the puff adders and sidewinders doubtless inked and venomous there.
"One of those pictures," drawled Mr. Halloway, "looks like Milton Blumquist."
Mr. Dark clenched a fist.
A blinding ache struck Jim's head.
"The other," Will's father was almost bland, "looks like Avery Johnson."
Oh, Dad, thought Will, you're great!
The Illustrated Man clenched his other fist.
Will, his head in a vise, almost screamed.
"Both boys," finished Mr. Halloway, "moved to Milwaukee some weeks ago."
"You," said Mr. Dark, coldly, "lie."
Will's father was truly shocked.
"Me? And spoil the prizewinners' fun?"
"Fact is," said Mr. Dark, "we found the names of the boys ten minutes ago. Just want to double-check."
"So?" said Will's father, disbelieving.