, the using of something in the
pragmatic sense for its workability.

He let his thoughts wander in the past. He could remember vaguely a
moment when he had felt unreasoning terror, a sense of being lost. He
could remember his father saying many times, "Belief is the lazy
assuming that something is true." It is or it isn't, and the fundamental
postulate of inductive logic tells us that its truth or lack of it is
forever beyond our reach. So why reach for it? Use a theory if it works
for you. Discard it if it doesn't. Don't use it even to the point of
absurdity while clinging to a belief that it's true.

It was that way with facts, too. Something that happened or seemed to
happen, needed no tag of belief attached to it. If you saw it happen it
didn't necessarily happen. There was such a thing as illusion. Accept it
as though it had happened--until events pointed otherwise.

His playmates and teachers had been frankly skeptical of this point of
view, doubting he could actually have attained it. They were quick to
agree it was desirable. They just thought no one could use a thing
without attaching a degree of belief or unbelief to it.

Now, what should he believe? As in the attempts to reach the basic
matrix by conscious extension, he had to start somewhere.

* * * * *

It was midafternoon when Captain Waters entered the bedroom with a
cheery, "Hello!"

"Hi," Fred said. He had been lying in bed with his eyes closed.

"Did I wake you?" Waters said. "Sorry." He grinned. "You can go back to
sleep again. I'll drop in later."

Captain Waters ducked out. He started to close the door, then left it
open. A few minutes later the rumble of his voice came from another part
of the house. Fred tried to catch what he was saying, but couldn't.

Half an hour later he heard the front door chimes. The rumble of deep
voices came again. The doctor appeared in the doorway.

"Well, well," he said, smiling. "I hear you had a very restful night.
How do you feel today? Better?" He was advancing toward the bed as he
talked. Setting his black bag down, he reached out and took Fred's
pulse. "A little rapid," he said, putting his watch away. Reaching
inside his coat, he took out a thermometer. He put it under Fred's
tongue. "Had anything to eat or drink in the past fifteen minutes?" he
asked. Fred shook his head.

The doctor stood quietly. After a while he lifted the thermometer,
glanced at it, and put it a