Bert’s head ached from sneezing. His eyes itched. And now worry was eating a hole clean through his stomach. Why hadn’t he taken his mother’s advice and become a fireman? There was a nice quiet life, to be sure.

So far, with tomorrow’s big show looming, he had a trained seal that required quarts of fresh herring, which were apparently in short supply in New York City; a set of jugglers who really couldn’t juggle; and an usher that could not hand out programs. Bert wiped his brow with a red bandana. At least, the headline act was sound. Mr. Houdini would never let him down, though it exasperated Bert that everything surrounding this new illusion was so mysterious-like. Only certain stagehands were being let in on certain bits. None of it was to his liking, but Bert understood the need for secrecy. Magicians tended to be overly protective of new acts; less chance for some competitor to poach it.

Bert dosed himself with Dr. Leo’s Breathene, and then took a bite of the lunch his wife had prepared. Liverwurst on rye. Not ideal for a nervous stomach, but she meant well. He swallowed, then took a swig of the carbonated water at his elbow. Belched. If he survived the next few days, he would buy some acreage in New Jersey. Build a small house with a picket fence. Give piano lessons. He took another swig of the carbonated water.

He also had to survive the meeting with the Hippodrome’s owners, set to start in five minutes. Bert polished off his sandwich, then headed to the Shubert brothers’ office. The first item on the agenda was the balky “usher.” That poor baby elephant. Bert could barely stomach being around Helmut. All the rough talk about power and submission. It certainly wasn’t having a successful impact on Baby. No matter what Helmut did, the creature could not seem to grasp the idea of using its trunk to hand out programs to patrons. Bert felt it was a lost cause.

“Just have him stand outside the theater,” he suggested at the meeting. “People love baby animals. They won’t care that he can’t hand out programs.”

“He can learn.” Helmut glared at Bert. “He will learn.”

Bert felt Helmut would have used the whip on him had he been given the chance.

The brother owners conferred and then decided to give Helmut another chance. “It’s the perfect gambit to complement Houdini’s illusion,” Mr. J. J. Shubert, the plumper of the two, said.

“Perfect,” Helmut echoed.

Bert changed the subject. “This Oberon keeps pestering to audition,” he said. “Says he has a boffo levitation gimmick.”

Mr. Lee Shubert flicked his hand about. “Put him off.” He sniffed. “Those suckers only care about Houdini, not Algernon.”

“Oberon,” Bert corrected quietly.

“So it’s all a go for the Vanishing Elephant illusion?” Mr. J. J. Shubert asked.

Bert caught a sneeze in his red bandana. “Of course. Of course.” He coughed out a laugh. “Does Houdini ever disappoint?”

“There’s always a first time,” said Mr. J. J. Shubert.

“You’re not catching cold, eh, Bert?” asked Mr. Lee Shubert.

“No cold,” Bert said to the first Mr. Shubert. “And no disappointment,” he said to the second, with far more confidence than he felt. “Houdini’s Vanishing Elephant illusion is going to be the talk of the town.”

The owners nodded, satisfied. “Talk of the town is fine,” one said, “but it’s filled seats we’re after.” With this pronouncement, Mr. Lee Shubert stood, signaling the end of the meeting. Mr. J. J. Shubert followed his brother to the door.

Forcing a smile as he saw the brothers out, Bert spoke reassuringly. “Oh, we’ll fill seats all right.” And he hoped with all his might that his words would come true.