"Your name, sir?" he asked, directly.
Don't tell him! thought Will.
Will's father debated a moment, took the cigar from his mouth, tapped ash and said, quietly:
"Halloway. Work in the library. Drop by some time."
"You can be sure, Mr. Halloway. I will."
The Witch was waiting near the corner.
Mr. Halloway whetted his forefinger, tested the wind, and sent a cumulus her way.
She flailed back, gone.
The Illustrated Man went rigid, spun about, and strode off, the ink portraits of Jim and Will crushed hard iron tight in his fists.
Silence.
It was so quiet under the grille, Mr. Halloway thought the two boys had died of fright.
And Will, below, gazing up, eyes wet,
mouth wide, thought, Oh my gosh, why didn't I see it before?
Dad's tall. Dad's very tall indeed.
Still Charles Halloway did not look down at the grille but only at the small comets of splashed red color left on the sidewalk, trailed around the corner, dropped from the clenched hands of the vanished Mr. Dark. He was also gazing with surprise at himself, accepting the surprise, the new purpose, which was half despair, half serenity, now that the incredible deed was done. Let no one ask why he had given his true name; even he could not assay and give its real weight. Now he could only read the numerals on the courthouse clock and speak to it, while the boys below listened.
"Oh, Jim, Will, something is going on. Can you hide, keep out from under, the rest of the day? We got to have time. With things like this, where do you begin? No law's been broken, none on the books, anyway. But I feel dead and buried a month. My flesh ripples. Hide, Jim, Will, hide. I'll tell your mothers you've got jobs at the carnival, good excuse for you not coming home. Stay hid until dark, then come to the library at seven. Meantime, I'll check police records on carnivals, newspaper files at the library, books, old folios, everything that might fit. God willing, by the time you show up, after dark, I'll have a plan. Walk easy until then. Bless you, Jim. Bless you, Will."
The small father who was very tall now walked slowly away.
His cigar, unnoticed, fell from his hand, dropped in a spark shower through the grate.
It lay in the square pit glowing its single fiery pink eye at Jim and Will, who looked back and at last snatched to blind and put it out.
Chapter 36
THE DWARF, bearing his demented and wildly lighted eyes, made his way south on Main Street.
Stopping suddenly, he developed a film strip in his head, scanned it, bleated, and blundered back through the forest of legs to reach for and pull the Illustrated Man down where a whisper was as good as a shout. Mr. Dark listened, then fled, leaving the Dwarf far behind.
Reaching the cigar store Indian, the Illustrated Man sank to his knees. Clutching the steel lattice-grille, he peered down in the pit.
Below lay yellow newspapers, wilted candy wrappers, burnt cigars, and gum.
Mr. Dark's cry was muffled fury.
"Lose something?"
Mr. Tetley blinked over his counter.
The Illustrated Man clenched the grate, nodding once.
"I clean under the grate once a month for the money," said Mr. Tetley. "How much you lose? Dime? Quarter? Half dollar?"
Bing!