"No chance at all," Cavender said. "The process works both ways. If they aren't, you also know it eventually—and I was sure of everyone but Greenfield over three weeks ago. She's got as tough a set of obscuring defenses as I've ever worked against. But after the jolt she got tonight, she came through clear immediately."
The light changed and the car started up. Jeffries asked, "You feel both of them can be rehabilitated?"
"Definitely," Cavender said. "Another three months of Grady's pseudoyoga might have ruined them for good. But give them around a year to settle out and they'll be all right. Then they'll get the call. It's been worth the trouble. Jones is good medium grade—and that Greenfield! She'll be a powerhouse before she's half developed. Easily the most promising prospect I've come across in six years."
"You're just as certain about Perrie Rochelle?"
"Uh-huh. Protopsi—fairly typical. She's developed as far as she ever will. It would be a complete waste of time to call her. You can't train something that just isn't there."
Jeffries grunted. "Never make a mistake, eh?"
Cavender yawned, smiled. "Never have yet, Reuben! Not in that area."
"How did you explain the sandwich to them—and Greenfield's napkin? They couldn't have bought your stage magic idea."
"No. Told them those were Dr. Al's posthypnotic suggestions. It's the other standard rationalization."