For an hour he had been trying to attract Franzie’s attention. A pile of lengths of rope stood on the floor.
“The some knots!” he screamed.
Arthur picked up a piece of rope and tried to put it in Franzie’s hand. It slipped to the mattress.
The man in the deep chair sighed and stood up. “Can’t waste any more time, Blauden. He’s a monster all right, but hell, the woods are full of ’em. Now if he could do that rope trick, I’d have your signature on a contract in a minute. The marks would go for that rope trick.”
“But I tell you he can do it!” Arthur Blauden wailed.
“But he don’t want to, maybe. And we get him under the freak top and the talker yaks it up and he don’t do it for the people. No, Blauden. No dice.”
The man left. Arthur breathed hard for long moments. Suddenly Franzie came to be the symbol of the years of frustration.
Arthur snatched up one of the rope ends. He began to whip wildly at Franzie’s head and shoulders. The rope was thick and it whistled in the air. It bit deeply into the flat cheek and a greenish fluid began to ooze from the place where the skin was broken.
Arthur suddenly found himself on his back on the mattress and unwinking eyes with the coldness of space in their depths looked down into his. Arthur was able to scream twice. He could not manage the third scream.
Franzie worked hard over the problem. It was difficult. The material was stubborn, but it could be forced. It made crackling noises as he forced it. At last it was quite ready.
He grasped Arthur’s protruding thumb and middle toe and gave the necessary tug.