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Cathy’s car, Robert asks the Britisher if the science departments at the college have anything to say about his comments.
    “They accept me as the temporary warlock of the school,” he answers. His smile begins to fade. “However—” he continues. He has known more than one university scholar whose funds “dried up” and promotion “vanished” when he or she began investigating psi. Some were driven into “education exile”, others into “somewhat more desperate situations.”
    Peter looks into the past. “One man I knew committed suicide,” he says.
    They reach the car and Robert gets in back with Bart who is greeted cordially by Peter. “Splendid chap,” he says, patting Bart on the head. The Lab’s tail thumps.
    Of course it isn’t only parapsychologists who have it difficult, Peter goes on as they ride. Psychics have it infinitely worse. If they accept money for their efforts, they are accused of taking advantage of people. Everything they do is eyed as probable fraud.
    “They are treated as children by researchers,” Peter says. “Worse, as
objects
.” They are legislated against. Not to mention the ungodly toll on their bodies and minds. “Thank God I do not possess a scintilla of ESP,” he concludes. “It is to be, at once, blessed and cursed.”
    In the back seat, Robert’s smile has frozen. Talk like this disturbs him. We will, presently, discover why.
    They arrive at the house where Peter suggests that Bart remain in the car—not because of objections he and his wife would have but because his cat is most intolerant in his domain; Bart might get scratched.
    They go inside and Robert meets Carol, a frail-looking woman in her mid-forties with a childlike face. She has “the sniffles”. (“I don’t know why I get them here, the weather in England is much more intemperate.”)
    Peter puts his arm around her and inquires how her toothache is.
    Her smile is brave. “A little painful,” she says; she’s going to the dentist in the morning.
    “I’m sorry, love,” says Peter, gently.
    Robert suggests that she press together the thumb and forefinger of the hand on the side of the toothache. This will create a “hump” on the upper part of the V formed by the fingers. If she rubs ice on this hump, he tells her, it may relieve the pain. It is a Hoku point the Chinese have made use of for five thousand years.
    Carol thanks him, says she’ll try and retires to the kitchen to prepare supper; Cathy offers to help but Carol says she’s fine.
    Peter is impressed by Robert’s knowledge of such esoterica. As they move into the living room, a great cat jumps from Peter’s chair to greet him. “Fritz, my beloved!” Peter says.
    He introduces Robert to the cat. “He may accept you conditionally in a year or so,” he says.
    Cathy laughs. “He isn’t kidding,” she tells Robert. “It took me a good fifteen months to break through Fritz’s reserve.”
    They sit and Fritz jumps on Peter’s ample lap to be stroked. Peter points to the space between the cat’s eyes, inquiring innocently, “Know what this is?”
    “His nose?” says Robert, wondering why Cathy has just groaned discreetly.
    “No, this is his nose,” says Peter, touching the tip of Fritz’s nose.
    “What then?”
    “Oh, no,” says Cathy. Robert glances at her.
    “It’s the
break,”
says Peter.
    “Really,” Robert says. He thinks hard. “Seems to me I ran across that somewhere once.”
    “You don’t know what you’ve just done,” Cathy tells him ominously.
    “What?” he smiles.
    “You have just leaped voluntarily into the trivia pit,” she replies. “You may never emerge.”
    She points at Peter. “And you, my darling, may have met your match.” The pointing finger shifts toward Robert. “This happens to be the author of THINGS EXPLAINED, OTHER THINGS—”
    “But of
course,”
says Peter, breaking in. “Would I be so callow as to goad an amateur?”
    Carol comes in with a glass of water and two