Free The Non-Statistical Man by Raymond F. Jones Page A

puzzlement. “I don’t get this,” he said. “You mean you want to have things all love and kisses between you and Magruder now, and promote his phoney self-development course instead of fight it?” Bascomb shook his head. “I haven’t quite figured out what ought to be done about Magruder. He’s a crackpot— there seems no getting around that fact. Probably a senile condition; he’s retired from the university you know. I suspect the full story is something like this: He stumbled on some bio-chemical concoction that would enormously improve a man’s mental abilities—actually induce a genuine intuitive ability. He probably tried to sell his associates and superiors on it and was laughed at for his trouble. That would naturally sour him on all efforts to promote it honestly and professionally, so he became embittered and turned to his self-development business to promote it under cover.
    “But with a difference. Where his initial impulse was no doubt to use his discovery for the benefit of mankind, he’s now determined to destroy everything he can as a revenge for the rebuff by his colleagues.”
    “Which is a good enough reason why we should continue to blast him,” said Hap.
    Bascomb shook his head. “No; in doing that, we would be running the risk of destroying the discovery itself. We can’t take the chance; it’s too valuable. The first thing necessary is to preserve Magruder himself until we can obtain control of his discovery and make sure it will be used properly. Then we can take steps to see that Magruder is prevented from taking out his bitterness against society; it’s absolutely necessary to withdraw our attack on Magruder now.”
    Hap’s look of suspicion deepened. “I don’t see it. You are only theorizing about Magruder’s background; and all I can see is that his system has been pretty effective— in taking you over onto his sidel What makes you think that this intuitive thing is all to the good if it’s used right— and that you can handle it better than Magruder?”
    Bascomb told him about the morning’s incidents with Sprock and the strangers on the street. He tried to describe his new outlook on the world.
    “O.K. Tell me something about me,” said Hap in quick challenge.
    “Why, yes—” Bascomb said hesitantly. “You—”
    He stopped.
    “Go on,” said Hap. “Should I take a bus or a taxi home tonight? Will it be safe enough to come to work tomorrow?”
    Bascomb tried to speak. Nothing came. “There’s nothing I can tell you,” he said at last. “I haven’t got it fully, and in a way I can control all the time. It’s just at certain times, and certain circumstances; you’ve got to understand that, Hap.”
    “All I can see is that Magruder’s got you over on his side. For my book, he’s a dangerous charlatan who needs to be stamped out; and that goes double in view of what he’s done to you. I don’t know how he engineered such a switch, but you aren’t the same man I knew a few days ago.”
    Bascomb tried again, from the beginning. But there was nothing he could say to convince Hap Johnson of his changed point of view—or rather, of the harmlessness of it.
    The reporter stood up as Bascomb approached the door to leave. “I’m going to fight Magruder, because I think he’s a menace to decent, ordinary-thinking people,” he said.
    “And if you go over to his side, Charley, I’m going to fight you, too.”
    There was no hint of friendship in his eyes.
    “I see,” said Bascomb slowly. “Well, thanks, anyway, Hap; maybe we’ll get together on this thing before it’s over.”
    He tried to assess Hap Johnson’s intense hostility as he went out to the street again. The more he thought about it, the more incredible it seemed. Hap hadn’t even been that hostile toward Magruder originally; he’d more or less gone along routinely, seeing Magruder as a crank to be suppressed. Now Bascomb felt that the reporter had become his own personal enemy because of