There was a faint glitter in Walter’s eyes. He said, “For two cents, I’d—”
Bob reached into his pocket and pulled out a handful of change. He took two pennies out and reached across and dropped them into the inverted top hat. He said, “There you are,” and waved the yardstick-cane again. “Price only two cents, the one-fiftieth part of a dollah! Step right up and see the greatest prestidigitatah on earth—”
Walter drank his wine and then his face kept getting redder while Bob went on spieling. Then he stood up. He said quietly, “What’d you like to see for your two cents, Bob?”
Elsie looked at him open-eyed, “You mean, Wally, you’re offering to take anything out of—”
“Maybe.”
Bob exploded into raucous laughter. He said, “Rats,” and reached for the wine bottle.
Walter said, “You asked for it.”
He left the top hat right on the table, but he reached out a hand toward it, uncertainly at first. There was a squealing sound from inside the hat, and Walter plunged his hand down in quickly and brought it up holding something by the scruff of the neck.
Mae screamed and then put the back of her hand over her mouth and her eyes were like white saucers. Elsie keeled over quietly on the studio couch in a dead faint; and Bob stood there with his cane-yardstick in midair and his face frozen.
The thing squealed again as Walter lifted it a little higher out of the hat. It looked like a monstrous, hideous black rat. But it was bigger than a rat should be, too big even to have come out of the hat. Its eyes glowed like red light bulbs and it was champing horribly its long scimitar-shaped white teeth, clicking them together with its mouth going several inches open each time and closing like a trap. It wriggled to get the scruff of its neck free of Walter’s trembling hand; its clawed forefeet flailed the air. It looked vicious beyond belief.