This was the way, he thought, as the crowd roared its approval. They’d never suspect he was using a sort of real magic. He could practice control of his psi in ordinary life, and this charlatanry would give him the needed outlet as well. When he returned to Earth, he’d be adjusted, more so than the ones like Dumb Joe. Davison was remaining in society. He wasn’t running away.
A small boy in the first row stood up. “Aw, I know how you did that,” he shouted derisively. “It was just a trick. You had it all—”
“Don’t give the show away, sonny,” Davison interrupted in a loud stage whisper. “Let’s just keep these things secret—between us magicians, huh?”
Illustrated by Virgil Finlay