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“What do you think?” Apollo asked.
“Very entertaining,” I said. “Much better than sitting like a lump. But I’m not sure you have found the perfect talent for Willie as yet.”
“Minnie neither,” Bertha said.
“Can you think of what Minnie could do?” asked Apollo.
Minnie gazed at me expectantly. A little smile blessed her rosebud lips, and her large head wobbled on her neck. I saw no reason why she couldn’t trade on what Mink had already set up. “Tell people’s fortunes, Minnie,” I said. “Do you think you can do that?”
She stared at me, her smile unchanged; perhaps she was too young to understand.
“Say nice things to people, like ‘You will have much love in your life’ and ‘You will come into money.’”
“Why?” she asked.
“Because that makes people happy,” I said. “It gives them something to look forward to.”
“I’ll help you think of nice things,” said Willie.
Minnie closed her eyes and toppled sideways. Willie caught her before she fell. When she opened her eyes again, they seemed distant even though she stared right at me. “A darkhaired lady loves you,” she said.
I laughed. “That’s the ticket.” She understood after all. I was a little startled, however. It was uncanny—almost like she knew my dreams.
“Hey!” Earle Johnson gestured me over. “I think I’ve got an act too.” The fat man leaned over and whispered.
“Well,” I said. “I hear it’s been done on the French stage.”
“Really?” Earle wheezed with the effort it had taken him to bend.
“But I would suggest you build your repertoire,” I said.
I peered through the curtain to watch the second show. The audience loved the dancing, they squealed in delight at Apollo’s growls, and Minnie informed several young ladies that they would have pretty children or handsome beaus. Dr. Mink appeared puzzled by the increased activity of his performers but did not show displeasure—that is, until Earle Johnson tilted his bulk forward and tooted two verses of “Pop Goes the Weasel” by means of his own flatulence.
“I have tolerated your shenanigans today because you entertained the audience,” Mink said after the show, “but I draw the line at farting songs. You’re not the only fat man in the world, Earle Johnson. You can be replaced.”
“But he got applause,” Apollo pointed out.
“And eight people departed,” said Dr. Mink. “Yiss. Eight people who will complain to others. I want no more surprises like that. Hear me.”
The children gathered around Earle after Mink had stormed off.
“Now, don’t that cap the climax? How did you learn that?” asked Moses.
“There’s not much to do when a feller can’t get around,” answered Earle, looking pleased at the attention.
“It was powerful funny,” said Willie.
“It was an aeronautical ballad, a fancy in flatulence,” aped Apollo.
“It stunk up the place,” called Mr. Bopp, but his mouth gaped open in a silent laugh.
“Good show, fat man,” Bess said, and strained up to pat his hand.
Dr. Mink needn’t have worried about bad publicity; enough people arrived for several more shows, and I actually saw Mink beam at Apollo and tousle his hair.
“Dr. Mink says I’m a smart manager for thinking up those acts,” said Apollo between shows. “He says to keep it up.”
I groaned inwardly. Here was another reason for Mink to hang on to the dog boy.
