ad improved. But if you don't pull yourself together and
try to get well, you'll be in here a long time."

Potts's chair overturned as he thrust himself up. He placed his thin
hands on the desk and said, "You psychiatrists can't see an inch in
front of your nose! All you can do is quote a textbook. If anybody
mentions mental telepathy, or predicting the future, or a sense of
perception, you classify them as insane. You think you've reduced the
mind to a set of rules, but you're still in kindergarten! I'll prove
every word I said! I'll vanish into the future! I can't change the past,
but the future hasn't happened yet! I can imagine my own!"

Joe grabbed the fist that Potts shook under the doctor's nose and pinned
the patient's arms behind his back.

"Take him upstairs to Ward K, Joe," Dr. Bean said. "To the pack room.
That should calm him."

"So long, moron!" Potts called.

"Let's go, Orville Potts," Joe said. "We're going to fix you up just
like an ice cream soda."

"You won't pack me in ice," Potts promised. His thin body twisted in
pain.

He closed his eyes tight and concentrated.

Joe's great hands clamped into fists when Potts disappeared.

* * * * *

Potts opened his eyes. He lay face down on a padded acceleration couch
with broad straps across his brawny back and legs. Before his face, a
second hand swept around a clock toward a red zero. Potts twisted his
head slightly in the harness and looked at the beautiful young woman
strapped to the couch on his right. A shrieking warning siren blared
through the spaceship.

The woman smiled.

"Hia, ked," she said in strange new accents. "Secure your dentures. Next
stop, Alpha Centaurus!"

End of Project Gutenberg's A Thought For Tomorrow, by Robert E. Gilbert

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