There are worse things than losing your home. What? Catching leprosy?
And then the way to answer the question changed. Now you had to pick out an answer. Like, Most people who hit someone with their car at night would (a) report to the police first (b) give first aid (c) make a getaway if possible. Well, any damn fool would know it was the last. In fact, anyone but a damn fool would do just that. That’s what he did that time. (c)
Now, a dope like Aberdeen: he’d probably stop his car. Stick his nose in someone else’s tough luck. Anybody stupid enough to lend his rent money—
If you saw a man about to jump in the river, would you (a) move his clothes so he wouldn’t trip on them (b) call your friends to watch (c) get something to eat afterwards (d) none of these things.
The important thing with women is (a) have a knife in your pocket (b) make sure your hair is combed (c) drive a red car (d) something else.
Bright lights are a sign of (a) rain (b) foreign domination (c) poisoned drinking water (d) none of these things.
National security means (a) warmer weather than we used to have (b) television programs (c) political influence (d) something else.
The main point in criminal activity is (a) dressing real warm if it’s cold (b) not to get caught (c) keep in your own lane on the highway (d) avoid such activity.
Test was kind of interesting, Joe thought, as he handed in the papers. And now—back to the lathe. Go around the long way, avoid Aberdeen’s machine. Gahdamn pest.
Dr. Colles took a good look around his office. It had never seemed so cramped and grubby before. Once again he found himself wondering if he ought not to get out of test construction and evaluation—way out—into some more lucrative field of psychology. Not many clients paid so well as Melchior Enterprises; in plain fact, none of them had. Not by a long shot. And his work for them was about over now, anyway. A competent personnel man like Taylor could carry on the tests without the constructionist. There was something about Taylor … smooth, knowing … without too much eagerness, he considered asking the young man to send him follow-up reports on how the psychopaths turned up by the special test were responding to treatment. Of course, some of them were bound to reject treatment. And they couldn’t be obliged to accept, either, worse luck. Well, that wasn’t his responsibility. He didn’t even know who was doing the therapy.
Except that they would get the credit. But that was how it went. Therapy, therapy, that was all the public thought about. How many articles in general publications did you ever see about test consctructionists? Let alone movies or TV. “I do the work, others get the credit,” Dr. Colles thought with some bitterness.
Feeling the inevitable postproject let-down, Colles’ eyes wandered over the top of his desk. Mail … He’d checked through the maiclass="underline" nothing of interest. Idly, he picked up a brochure-like thing on glossy paper. It had failed to attract his preoccupied attention earlier.
Ease-A-Just News Jottings. Published by and for the employees of Ease-A-Just Gear and Tool (a Melchior Enterprise). Oh, yes, he recalled talking to Taylor’s assistant concerning a short piece about the test, for the house organs. He started to lay it aside, then opened it. Might be something about the test in there. Of course, the real reason hadn’t been explained to the employees.
“Old friends of Mabel Quinn (formerly Stoltzfus), of the cafeteria staff, will be glad to learn that she and Patrolman Quinn are now the proud parents of twin boys. Congratulations, Mabel, we knew you had it in you!” Dr. Colles winced, turned a page. “Maintenance Wins Softball Tiff”—well, good for Maintenance … No, nothing here. He started to toss it away once more, but something caught his eye and was gone before he could fix what it had been. This is annoying. With a sigh, he opened the paper again, began a systematic search. He had to find it, or it would haunt him. There: a name.
The box score:
Maintenance AB R H Shop Machine AB
Smead cf 1 0 0 2b Guthrie 2
Clock rf 2 0 0 ss Brandt 3
Dupont 1b 2 0 0 1b Rayan 3
And the name was Clock. Frowning slightly, Dr. Colles repeated it. He muttered it again, as he took several files from the cabinet and leafed through the contents. Clock!
Dr. Colles whistled. Then, being a systematic man, he wrote down all the names in the Ease-A-Just News Jottings, rewrote them in alphabetical order; then began to compare them with the names in his files. He whistled again.
The door opened. His assistant said, “If you want me, Doctor, please call me by name. I’m not your dog; don’t whistle.”
For several seconds he stared at her, expressionless. Then he said, “My apologies, Miss Blick. It won’t happen again. But, since you are here—Don’t we subscribe to a clipping service on the various corporations which—We do. Thank you. Then, if you will be kind enough to bring me the clippings relating to Melchior Enterprise …Thank you, Miss Blick.”
Most of the clippings were from the financial and industrial pages of the papers and did not long engage Dr. Colles’ attention. Several, however, were from the news sections, and these he proceeded to read. Once or twice he pursed his lips as if to whistle, but each time he glanced at the door and restrained himself. Instead, he said, “Well, well …”
Industrialist Linked to Forced Sales of Beer. “Well!” Murdered Man Revealed As Former Melchior Employee. “Well, well!” Grand Jury Probes Alleged Tie-in of Melchior with Local … “Well, well, well!”
Dr. Colles was coming out of the Personnel Office when he met Edward Taylor coming in. “Your assistant told me you wouldn’t be in today,” Colles said.
“I didn’t expect to be in … This is a rather large outfit, you know—not that it couldn’t be larger if—yes, I’ve been occupied at another office. Can I help you?” He looked at Colles with cool gray eyes.
“No, I don’t think so, but thank you. Your assistant was very helpful.”
With smile swift as always, though perhaps a trifle less charming, Edward Taylor said he was glad of it. “Where are you heading for now? To see Mr. Melchior? Ah, yes. A. M. thinks a lot of you. As do I.” His manner, as they parted, seemed rather thoughtful.
Doctor Colles, crossing the large expanse of floor between the door and Mr. Melchior’s desk, had ample time to note and admire the quality of the thick rug and massive furniture. “You do me an honor,” said the businessman, shaking hands. “If you’d told me you were coming, I’d’ve sent my car.”
The psychiatrist waved his hand. “I found myself with no appointments today,” he said. “So I decided to catch up on things I’d been putting off. I discharged my assistant. And I came out here.” Melchior said, Oh? He inquired if the assistant hadn’t given satisfaction. “Not for a long time,” said Dr. Colles. “Anyway. Yes, I wanted to ask you—how are those tests working, which I devised for you? Are they giving satisfaction?”
“Perfectly, Doctor.”
“I’m naturally gratified to hear that. I was wondering how the idea was working out. I was wondering, too, if you’d tell me the names of the gentlemen who are working on the rehabilitation end of the scheme. The ones who are treating the people whom my special test has turned up.”