tand
that I don't expect you to believe me right off the bat when I wander
into your busy little office and tell you--by the way, what is your
receptionist doing always staring at the floor right next to her desk?"

"She's in love. He's an advertising man."

"Oh, well yes, of course. When I tell you I come from the future.
Obviously you're not going to accept that right off the rat, as I say. I
mean, no one could expect you to. However, after talking at length to me
in your office and then holding a private conversation with my wife, you
should, I think, as a trained and highly competent psychiatrist,
certainly the foremost of your day--"

* * * * *

At this point Victor had waved a deprecating hand.

"Please allow me to say that I am certainly a better judge of your
position in this world than you could possibly be. Seeing it in the
proper perspective, I mean. I did not intend to compliment you when I
described you as I just did, I merely state a fact already known to my
confreres. Then you should, as I say, under these most favorable
circumstances, and certainly being forewarned, then you should be able
to tell who is suffering from a delusion and who is not. Apart from what
the delusion is, and whether or not you choose to believe in it, simply
studying the behavior of the people involved, you should be able to tell
who is acting normally and who is not."

"I agree with you in every particular," Victor said. "I certainly
should. And I think I can, and have. In point of fact--"

"Dinner is ready," Mimi said. "And no shop talk, please. I want you to
taste my squash and applesauce piece. And no one, absolutely _no_ one,
comes into my dining room with a stinking black cigar."

"Could it be Galilililu?" Donald murmured. "Damn."

* * * * *

"This is excellent," Victor said. "How do you make it?"

"Why, thank you," Mimi replied. "It's very simple. You just take the
squash and then pour in the applesauce and cinnamon."

"There must be more to it than that," Victor insisted, smiling around a
mouthful.

"Of course there is," she said. "But I'm not telling you all my secrets.
You'll have to come back if you want it again."

"Damn it," said Donald, "stop jibber-jabbering! We know why we're here,
so let's talk about it. Can you cure my crazy wife?"

"Donald!" Mimi spluttered.

"Now, Mr. Fairfield," Victor said, "let's not be unfair. Your wife has
am