Annual income twenty pounds, annual expenditure nineteen nineteen six, result happiness. Annual income twenty pounds, annual expenditure twenty pounds ought and six, result misery.
—CHARLES DICKENS
J. M. Cooper, M.D., looked up, bewildered. “Well, yes, as far as I can tell, if your ulcer is not completely cured it is so much improved that it is inactive.”
“What about the cold?” Josh asked.
Dr. Cooper put his hands together thoughtfully. “Cleared up—that is if you really had a cold.”
“What would be the point of lying about it?” Josh roared. “I’ve had thousands of colds, and this one was a dilly.”
The doctor nodded agreeably. “I suppose you know. But also, I’m sure, you’ve had colds that cleared up spontaneously in one or two days. That’s why cold remedies—and other so-called ‘miracle drugs’—must be tested, with controls, in a careful, scientific manner before any judgment can be passed on them.”
“But if the ulcer and the cold were cured, how was it done?”
“I haven’t got the slightest idea,” Dr. Cooper said frankly. “But if I had to guess, I’d say that the method was a cousin to faith healing.”
“But I had no faith in the thing at all.”
The doctor shrugged. “You expected something to happen. You were impressed. The hypodermic injection was a stimulus to autosuggestion—in effect you cured yourself. Your ulcer, after all, was psychosomatic. Your mind inflicted it on your body; your mind cured it. That’s all.”
“Sounds very simple.”
“Oh, it isn’t simple. If it were, we’d all be doing it. Much easier than diet, drugs, and surgery, eh?”
“Then, actually, it’s all hokum?”
“Well, I wouldn’t say that. I’ve got no doubt that they’ve stumbled onto something in the autosuggestion line which may prove effective in many cases. We must realize that we are living in an age of stress, and the stress diseases are everywhere—the stomach cramps, rheumatoid arthritis, ulcers, hypertension, asthma, some heart diseases, ulcerative colitis....”
“Aren’t you worried about your practice?” Josh asked, frowning.
Dr. Cooper laughed. “Such cases are necessarily limited, and I’ve found that germs and viruses are virtually immune to autosuggestion. These miracle cures turn out to be only temporary manias. They run their course and are forgotten. No—as fantastic as these chairs seem—there will always be a medical profession.”
“Could this be a case of fraud?”
“Well, yes, I suppose there is that possibility—”
“If it is, would you help me expose it?”
“I—uh—hesitate to become involved—”
“Don’t you think it’s your duty to the community and to your profession to make certain that anyone treating the sick in this community is fully qualified to do so?”
Dr. Cooper ran his hand through his close-cropped hair. “Since you put it that way, I suppose it is.”
Josh nodded curtly. “I’ll let you know what you can do.”
When he left the doctor’s office, there were still several hours of the afternoon left. He stepped along in the sunshine feeling better than he had felt in years. That, he thought, is what comes of having an outside interest.
The thought of outside interests reminded him of the business, and he felt a flash of guilt. He turned his car toward the plant.
Marie looked up from her desk, surprised. “I didn’t expect you, Mr. Hunt. You looked so sick last night. But today you look much better.”
“Thank you, Marie,” Josh said jauntily. “I feel fine. Have there been any calls for me?”
“Mr. Steward, your lawyer has been trying to reach you. And Mr. Kidd has been waiting.”
“Get Mr. Steward for me. Meanwhile I’ll talk to Kidd.”
“Oh, and Mr. Hunt, while you’re here—I want to tell you that I’m resigning. I’m getting married.”
Josh had been turning toward the office. He stopped suddenly and came back. He realized suddenly how much he had come to depend on his daily contact with youth and beauty. It wasn’t a question of gamboling with Marie—at least only in distant and fancy hypothesis—but it had been something to look forward to, to cherish secretly, to make his days endurable.
“But I thought you wanted a career!”
Marie blushed prettily. “I thought so, too. But I just realized—I mean I was made to realize—that what I really wanted all the time was a home and a family. That’s what would really make me happy.”
A dark suspicion settled around Josh like a mantle. “I see. Hedonics, Inc.”
She sighed ecstatically and nodded.
“All right, Miss Gamble,” Josh said distantly, divorcing himself. “I’m sorry to lose you, but I’m sure you know best.”
That was the first surprise.
The second surprise was Mr. Kidd, the union business agent. He was almost sickening. He didn’t argue. He didn’t pound the table. He said, “You’re right, Mr. Hunt. Job enlargement is the answer. I agree with you, and the men agree with you.”
“Wh-what?” Josh spluttered.
“Yes, sir, and we’ll sign that contract.”
“What’s the matter with you?” Josh demanded.
“I’ve just realized, Mr. Hunt, that all this blustering and argument doesn’t do anything but make everybody unhappy. And another thing I’ve found out is that I wasn’t cut out for this business agent stuff. I was happier when I was a worker in the factory. With your permission, that’s what I’m going back to.”
His mouth sagging open, Josh looked at Kidd. Consciously he forced his mouth shut and said, “Hedonics—?”
“That’s right,” Kidd said happily.
The telephone saved Josh from blurting out what he thought about Hedonics, Inc. “Excuse me,” he muttered, picking up the receiver. “Hello?”
“This is Steward,” his lawyer said in a high-pitched, excited voice. “You know this new firm in town, the one that calls itself Hedon—”
“I know it,” Josh cut in grimly.
“They just had a representative in my office. They now own half of Hunt Electronics.”