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  It was obvious now. “Yeah,” Ed said slowly, then, “but what did you mean about us exploiting it?”

  The stogie was pointing for emphasis again. “Don’t be a kook. This is your chance of a lifetime. Up until now, on this offbeat program of yours you’ve had a bunch of freaks. Twitches who claim to have ridden in flying saucers, spiritualists who don’t have any luck raising spirits for you, faith healers who couldn’t take off a waft. But this time you’ve got it made. Go over and latch onto old man Tubber for your next show. He laid a hex on vanity and it worked. get it? It worked. And what’s more, he’s got witnesses. You witnessed it, Helen Fontaine witnessed it. Tubber’s daughter was there and a bunch of his followers. He’s got genuine bona fide witnesses that he cursed the vanity of women and the next day the Homespun Look took over. Can’t you see a story when it falls into your lap.”

  “Holy smokes,” Ed said in awe.

  “I’ll give you full coverage in the Times-Tribune. First build up to the program and then do a really good spread with lots of art, afterward. Maybe in the Sunday supplement.”

  “Art?”

  “Photographs, photographs—of Tubber and his tent, and his daughter. Tubber in the pose he assumes when he’s laying a hex on something. The works.”

  He was carrying Ed Wonder away. With this sort of a show he might even get enough publicity to interest some sponsor. Why, he might even get his TV spot for it.

  He said, “But I’ve got an ESP girl on for this Friday.”

  “Bounce her. Postpone her. This is hot. You’ve got to use Tubber while this Homespun Look fad is new. It’ll be old hat in a couple of weeks. This is one style that the bigwigs aren’t going to let last. They can’t afford to. Department stores, beauty shops, cosmetic manufacturers are already howling. They want the President to give one of his famous Air-Conditioner Side chats, telling the women of the country they’re destroying prosperity.”

  “Right!” Ed told him. “We’ll do it. I’ll have to get hopping. I’ll need to dig up some panelists to appear with him. Ask him questions, that sort of thing.”

  “Me!” Buzz crowed. “I’ll be a panelist for you. I’ve listened to him half a dozen times. Then get Helen Fontaine to appear, since it was she who brought on the hex. Maybe we can get her to plead with him to reverse the spell.”

  “Yeah,” Ed took it up. “And his daughter, Nefertiti. She’s as cute as a pair of cuff links. Nice voice too. We’ll work her in. She implied that old Tubber had made with a hex or two before, when he was speaking in wrath as she called it.”

  Ed Wonder had the faintest twinge of misgiving on the way over to where Ezekiel Joshua Tubber had his tents pitched. What would Mulligan, and the Stephen Decatur Society have to say about opening the airwaves to the man that only the week before they were investigating for subversion? He decided he wouldn’t bother to tell the studio head. If he could get Helen Fontaine to appear on the show, Mulligan wouldn’t have much to say. And Buzzo was right, this was a program that was going to pull attention. The breaks, at long last, were coming Ed Wonder’s way.

  They drew up to the parking area of the large empty lot the Tubber followers had appropriated for his stay in the vicinity, and Ed Wonder dropped the lift lever of the Volkshover and settled to the ground.

  Buzz said, “Hey what’s going on? What’s going on?”

  “It looks like they’re wrapping it up,” Ed said. “They’re pulling down the main tent.”

  The scrambled out of the little hovercar and made their way in the direction of the activities.

  Nefertiti Tubber spotted them first. She had emerged from the smaller of the two tents, carrying a coffeepot and four cups in her hands.

  For some inane reason, there came to Ed Wonder’s mind a couple of lines he hadn’t thought of since high school.

  Maud Miller, on a summer’s day, Raked the meadow, sweet with hay.

  He said from the side of his mouth, “For the past couple of days I’ve been seeing this Homespun Look. For the first time I can say, on her it looks good.”

  “On her it looks natural,” Buzz said back. “The rural simplicity bit.”

  She stopped and waited for them, questioning in her eyes.

  Ed said, “Ah, Miss Tubber. You and your father aren’t leaving?”

  She cocked her head infinitesimally. “I’m afraid we are. We’ve been here two weeks, you know.” She paused before adding, “Edward Wonder.” She looked at Buzz. “Good afternoon, Buzz De Kemp. I noticed that you used material from my father’s sermons in some of your articles.”

  “Well, yes I did.”

  “Without bothering to mention their source, or even that father was in town.”

  Buzz winced. “Well, frankly, Miss Tubber, I wanted to do some pieces on the old… that is, your father. But the city editor killed them. Sorry. No interest in small religious cults.”

  “That’s why we came over to see you,” Ed put in hurriedly.

  She turned her incredibly blue eyes to him. “Because there is no interest in small religious cults, Edward Wonder?”

  “Well, in a way. Listen, just call me Ed. What we thought is that if your father appeared on my program he’d reach hundreds of thousands of people, right in their homes.”

  Her face brightened momentarily, but then the frown was there again. “But your program deals with cranks, with fakes, Edward… that is, Ed. My father…”

  He said hurriedly, “Not at all, Nefertiti. You don’t get it. My program is designed to give people, who ordinarily wouldn’t be able to reach the public, an opportunity to present their beliefs, no matter how extreme. Admittedly some are fakes, some are even crooks, but that doesn’t mean that perfectly sincere folk aren’t also represented. This is your father’s chance to get his message over on the big time.”

  She said hesitantly, “Father’s never been on the radio… Ed. I don’t believe he even approves of radio. He thinks people found more enjoyment when they played their own music. When each member of the family had his own instrument, or could sing.”

  “When was that?” Buzz De Kemp said flatly.

  Her eyes came to him. “It still applies in Elysium.”

  The newspaperman started to say something further, but Ed Wonder hurried in. “It’s not important whether or not he approves of radio, or if he’s ever been on. I’m used to inexperienced folk. Almost all my guests are. This is his big chance. Besides, you’ll be on too. And Buzzo, here. And, I think, Miss Fontaine.”

  She worried the idea a little, but then shrugged comfortably plumpish shoulders. “We can ask him.” She led the way and now Ed and Buzz could see the elderly evangelist who was, with several others, pulling down the larger tent. Wooden chairs had already been folded and stacked outside, and the lecture platform folded up for transport.

  When he spotted the two, he said something to the others who continued the work, and came over.

  The old railsplitter, Ed Wonder thought all over again. Abe Lincoln in Illinois. The man had a personality. Maybe he was a father image, or something. It was a shame the program wasn’t already on TV. It’d really go over if the audience could see this bird.

  Ezekiel Joshua Tubber looked from one of the newcomers to the other. “Yes, dear ones?” he said.

  Ed Wonder cleared his throat. “My name is…”

  “I know your name, dear one. My daughter told me of your identity the other night.”

  It came to Ed very suddenly that he wasn’t going to get Tubber on the show by appealing to venality. Instinctively he knew the man was no spellbinder on the make. Driving over here, with Buzz De Kemp, Ed had figured on promising the evangelist an opportunity to bring himself before the people in such a way that he would eventually make such great revivalists of the past such as Billy Sunday and Billy Graham look like pikers. Now he decided it might well be better if he made no mention of the curse at all, at this point.

  Ed said, “Mr. Tubber, I…”

  Tubber said gently, “Mister is derived fro
m the title, Master, dear one. I wish to be no one’s master, no more than I wish anyone to be mine. Call me Ezekiel, Edward.”

  “Or Zeke, for short,” Buzz De Kemp said.

  Tubber looked at the newspaperman. “Yes,” he said gently. “Or Zeke, for short, if you will, dear one. It is an honorable name, that of one of the more progressive thinking of the Hebrew prophets who wrote the twenty-sixth book of the Old Testament.”

  “Easy, Buzzo,” Ed muttered from the side of his mouth. Then to Tubber, “What I meant, sir…”

  “The term sir, a variation of sire, comes down to us from the feudalistic era, dear one. It reflects the relationship between noble and serf. My efforts are directed against such relationships, against all authority of one man over another. For I feel that whoever puts his hand on me to govern me is a usurper and a tyrant! I declare him my enemy!”

  Ed Wonder closed his eyes for a moment and held silence. He opened them again and said, “Listen, Ezekiel, how would you like to appear on my radio program Friday night?”

  “I would like it very much. It is high time our mass media be utilized for dispensing other than trivialities.” The bearded oldster looked wearily at the worn tent being dismantled by his assistants. “It is not through desire that my words are given to so few.” His eyes came back to Ed Wonder and Buzz De Kemp. “I thank you for the opportunity to bring the word to the million mass, dear ones.”

  It had been that simple lining up Ezekiel Joshua Tubber.

  Now Helen Fontaine was another thing.

  Helen Fontaine glared at the two of them. “Put myself near enough to that old goat to even hear his voice again? Oh, Mother. Do I look as though I’ve gone completely around the corner?”

  They were in the so-called recreation room of the Fontaine home. Recreation, so far as the Fontaines saw it, must have consisted of drinking since the room offered little beyond an elaborate autobar. Ed had stationed himself behind it, dialing for the three of them, while Buzz made the pitch.

  Helen was garbed in a simple cotton print. Her shoes were low of heel. Her hair, in braids. Her face looked as though it had been thoroughly scrubbed not five minutes earlier.

  Buzz De Kemp moved his stogie from the left side of his mouth to the right, thoughtfully. He said, “There’s nothing to be afraid of in that old boy. He’s a kindly old coot, as innocent as—”

  “A stick of dynamite,” Helen put in bitterly. “Give me another beer, Little Ed.”

  Ed said, “I’ve never seen you drink beer before.”

  She grunted. “Neither have I, but I’m beginning to suspect that anti-vanity curse of Tubber’s covers ostentatious drinks. Nothing tastes good to me anymore except beer and dago red wine.”

  Buzz said, “Now look, you don’t really believe Tubber put a hex on you?”

  “Yes. And I have no intention of getting near enough to him for him to dream up another one, sharpy.”

  Buzz said, “Okay. Grant for argument that he did, really, truly put a spell on you. If he can put it on, he can take it off, can’t he?”

  She frowned at him, over the rim of her beer glass. “I… I don’t know. I suppose so.”

  “Why, sure,” Ed put in helpfully.

  Buzz said, “So fine. You’ll admit he’s a sweet old duffer until you get him roused up. I’ve never seen him roused up but I’ll take the word of you two that you heckled him into a temper the other night. But basically he’s a sweet old man. So fine. Come on the air with us and apologize to him and ask him to reverse the spell.”

  She thought about that, pulling on her beer.

  “You know,” she said finally. “This’ll pop like corn, but I don’t particularly object to this built-in allergy I’ve got to cosmetics and fancy dress. I think I feel more, well, comfortable than I have since I was a child.”

  Buzz bore in. “Sure, fine. But how about all the other women in the world? Billions of them. Billions. You’re young and pretty. Any style looks good on you. Even the Homespun Look. But how about all the women who don’t start off with your advantages? All the rest of them are under this hex you brought on too.”

  Ed looked at him. “I thought you didn’t believe in it?”

  Buzz said, “Shut up. This is just for the sake of argument.” He said to Helen, “Besides, it’s Little Ed’s big chance. A real blockbuster of a show. It’ll get as much publicity as Orson Welles’ expeditionary force from Mars back in the 1930s. But you’re necessary. You’re the big witness. You’re the one he cursed, but in miswording it, he took in all other women as well. Little Ed needs you on the program.”

  Helen said decisively, “All right, I’ll do it. I should have my skull candled, but I’ll do it. However, I’ll tell you right now, sharpy, my women’s intuition tells me a wheel is going to come off this go-cart.”

  Buzz took his stogie from his mouth and looked at the unlit tip. “Women’s intuition,” he said flatly. “First we get hexes and spells and now we get women’s intuition. Next week I’ll meet somebody who believes in fairies.”

  From the first, the program didn’t come off exactly the way Ed Wonder and Buzz De Kemp pictured it. In fact, it didn’t come off remotely in the manner they had pictured it.

  Up until Jerry, in the control booth, signaled that the mike was hot, everything was routine. Ed Wonder had set up Studio Three for five persons, himself and four guests. There was a mike for each of them. A pad and a pencil for each, so that anyone could make notes, or doodle, or whatever. Tubber and his daughter Nefertiti had arrived a full hour before broadcast time. Helen and Buzz De Kemp came together, a half an hour later, Buzz having picked up Helen at her house, afraid that she might renege at the last moment.

  Ten minutes before going on, Jerry, the engineer, had taken a level on their voices. Then they had waited. When the red light had lit, signifying that the studio was hot, Ed launched into his routine. Since his program was live and off the cuff, rather than being taped, it could be variable. Sometimes one of his guests, and the panelists he had to help question them, would take up the full horn, effortlessly. Sometimes, however, he’d get a kook who just didn’t come off and Ed would have to wind up the interview and play music and chatter for the rest of the time.

  Tonight, he had a satisfied belief he wasn’t going to have to play music.

  He said into the mike, after the routine of station identification and the naming of the program, “Folks, tonight we’ve got something different. Of course, every Friday night I try to bring you something, somebody, different. We’ve had everything from a man who talked to horses to a woman that flew. Now, of course, to some this might not seem very far out, but on this program things are special. Not only did our guest talk to horses like any jockey or cowboy might do, but he got replies since he was speaking horse language. Our woman who flew didn’t bother to have an airplane around her. She flew all by her lonesome. Levitation, she called it.”

  From the side of his eyes, Ed Wonder could see that his guest of the evening Ezekiel Joshua Tubber, wasn’t taking this any too well. His daughter, sitting next to him, was showing signs of acute apprehension.

  Ed hurried on. “But tonight, folks, we’ve got somebody here who’ll really set you back. A religious prophet, crisscross my heart and point to heaven, who can cast hexes wholesale. And what’s more, we’re going to prove it. Because folks, we have here in the studio the man responsible for the Homespun Look, that supposed fad which has swept the globe in the past week. It’s not a fad, folks, not a fad at all. It’s a real, true hex which our guest of the evening, Ezekiel Joshua Tubber, has cast on all womankind. Also with us tonight is Nefertiti Tubber, daughter of our guest-in-chief; Helen Fontaine, well known Kingsburg socialite; and Buzz De Kemp, whose byline in the Times-Tribune you’ve all come to know. Mr. Kemp, who simply doesn’t believe in spells, folks, will help question evangelist Ezekiel Joshua Tubber.

  “Now then, first of all, Mr. Tubber, with a name like yours I assume in your revival meetings you carry on a long tradition of
good Christian family.”

  The Lincolnesque face had been losing some of its gentle sadness as Ed progressed. Now Tubber said tightly, “Then you make an incorrect assumption, Edward. First, the meetings I have been addressing are not revivals. It is my teaching that Christianity, along with Judaism, Mohammedism, and indeed all other present day organized religions, is a dead, profitless religion and I have no intention of reviving the corpse.”

  “Oh,” Ed said blankly. “Ah, evidently I gained a wrong impression, folks. Then, just what were you, ah, preaching at your tent meetings over on Houston Street, Mr. Tubber?”

  “A new religion, Edward. One fitted to our times.” His voice had taken on inspiration.

  Buzz De Kemp said wryly, “The human race needs another religion like it needs an extra collective aperture in the head. We’ve got so many religions now, we can’t sort them out.”

  Tubber turned on him quickly. “To the contrary. But very little knowledge of religion shows that a major one has not come upon the scene for nearly fifteen hundred years. And what was that? Mohammedism, a religion, like Judaism and Christianity, born in the desert to express the religious needs of semibarbaric nomads. The great religions of the East, such as the Hindu and the Buddhist, are even older. I tell you, dear ones, that in their day perhaps these beliefs of our ancestors were positive in their effects. But the world has changed. Man has changed. There is need today for a new religion, one that fits out modern condition. One that will point out the way to a more full life, not simply parrot the words of men of past centuries who knew not the problems that would confront our generation. The proof that these hoary religions of the past are no longer valid is to be seen in the direction of our people. We play lip service to our churches, temples, synagogues and mosques but the lives we lead are without ethic.”

  Buzz De Kemp said sceptically, “You think it’s up to you to start this new religion?”