The freud stared, open-mouthed, at the empty chair. His nurse came in and demanded, "Hey, you see how she scrammed? What was the matter with her?"
He took off his glasses and whiskers meditatively. "You can search me. I told her she should maybe try a vacation on Venus." A momentary bafflement came into his face and he dug through his desk drawers until he found a copy of the four-color, profusely illustrated journal of his profession. It had come that morning and he had lip-read it, though looking mostly at the pictures. He leafed through to the article Advantages of the Planet Venus in Rest Cures.
"It's right there," he said.
The nurse looked. "It sure is," she agreed. "Why shouldn't it be?"
"The trouble with these here neurotics," decided the freud, "is that they all the time got to fight reality. Show in the next twitch."
He put on his glasses and whiskers again and forgot Mrs. Garvy and her strange behavior.
"Freud, forgive me, for I have neuroses."
"Tut, my dear girl, what seems to be the trouble?"
Like many cures of mental disorders, Mrs. Garvy's was achieved largely by self-treatment. She disciplined herself sternly out of the crazy notion that there had been only one rocket ship and that one a failure. She could join without wincing, eventually, in any conversation on the desirability of Venus as a place to retire, on its fabulous floral profusion. Finally she went to Venus.