Of all the things Maculay needed, more work along the same line with no relaxation was not among the list. What Maculay needed—or would eventually get in a sanatorium—was a long period of relaxation. Fun and games; a bit of competition; a hangover, and the sheer physical delight of wrapping an arm about the slender waist of a female and swaying to and fro to the rhythmic beat of tomtoms and the howl of a well beaten clarinet.
At seventy, Jay Hanson had learned the impatience of youth. Maculay had a lot of time to finish his equations. Scissor a year of Maculay's life and he could then finish this; let him go on as he was and he would burn himself out at a mere fifty.
He looked at Maculay seriously. "You have been working too hard," he said.
The reply came instantly, like the echo of an automaton.
Hanson nodded to himself. It was obvious; when the burning drive of that demanding brain was stilled, the subconscious recognized the fact that Maculay was working too hard.
"Maculay's Equations are in error," said the doctor.
Cliff Maculay stirred, shook his head, and began to disagree violently. Then he relaxed, since he had come there to solve an error; but he had become tense again.
Hanson shook his head unhappily; this was going to take time and effort. He must take this conversion slowly, since it was apparent that the slightest touch upon dangerous ground would trigger the big brain into reaction and perhaps undo in the space of a second the work of several hours.
Gradually, prying and working, Hanson began to elicit information from Maculay. Bits of character traits, an impulse suppressed, an attitude formed in youth, an impediment created to shut out the demands of normal living, desires for this and wants for that. Hanson looked at them clinically, then either reversed them or let them stand, depending upon their possible affect. Each phase took time; it is not simple to take a man who has never held a billiard cue and make him believe that excellence at the pool table is an evidence of a sharp eye and fine coordination instead of the result of a misspent youth. And Cliff's attitude towards women was troublesome. His mother, the youthful reading of too much of King Arthur, or Lord knew what, had given Maculay the odd idea that a woman was a sort of goddess, not to be touched by the hand of clod-like man. To reverse this attitude towards a more practical attitude was difficult, since the reversion must not be complete. Hanson did not want Cliff to reverse completely, to the other extreme, where the man would go out and start treating women like galley slaves, punching bags, or chattels—which, in fact, was about the way Maculay had expected to be treated.
Hanson took a brief rest from the hard job, by recalling and telling Maculay every risque story he could remember.