t can you _possibly_ want of Bev Bell?"

"Whatever it was that enabled her to hit the target against odds of
almost infinity to one; not just once, but time after time. By
definition, intuition. What quality did you use just now in getting me
off the hook? Intuition. What makes Teddy Blake such an unerring
performer? Intuition again. My hunches--they're intuition, too.
Intuition, _hell_! Labels--based on utterly abysmal damned dumb
ignorance of our own basic frames of reference. Do you think those four
kinds of intuition are alike, by seven thousand rows of apple trees?"

"Of course not. I see what you're getting at.... Oh! This'll be fun!"

The others came in and, one by one, Tuly examined each of the four
women and the man. Each felt the probing, questioning feelers of her
thought prying into the deepest recesses of his mind.

"There is not quite enough of each of three components, all of which are
usually associated with the male. You, sir, have much of each, but not
enough. I know your men quite well, and I think we will need the doctors
Kincaid and Karns and Poynter. But such deep probing is felt. Have I
permission, sir?"

"Yes. Tell 'em I said so."

Tuly scanned. "Yes, sir, we should have all three."

"Get 'em, Larry." Then, in the pause that followed: "Sandy, remember
yowling about too many sweeties on a team? What do you think of this
business of all sweeties?"

"All that proves is that nobody can be wrong all the time," she replied
flippantly.

The three men arrived and were instructed. Tuly said: "The great trouble
is that each of you must use a portion of your mind that you do not know
you have. You, this one. You, that one." Tuly probed mercilessly; so
poignantly that each in turn flinched under brand-new and almost
unbearable pain. "With you, Doctor Hilton, it will be by far the worst.
For you must learn to use almost all the portions of both your minds,
the conscious and the unconscious. This must be, because you are the
actual peyondixer. The others merely supply energies in which you
yourself are deficient. Are you ready for a terrible shock, sir?"

"Shoot."

* * * * *

He thought for a second that he _had_ been shot; that his brain had
blown up.

He couldn't stand it--he _knew_ he was going to die--he wished he
_could_ die--anything, anything whatever, to end this unbearable
agony....

It ended.

Writhing, white and sweating, Hilton opened his eyes. "Ou