"Dr. Thorn," he said expansively, "we need you to help us locate an atavism."
I flicked professional smile No. Three at him lightly.
"I'm a historical psychologist," I told him. "That sounds in my line. Which of your ancestors are you interested in having me analyze?"
"I used the word 'atavism' to mean a reversion to the primitive."
I made a pencil mark on my desk pad. I could make notes as well as he could read them.
"Yes, I see," I murmured. "We don't use the term that way. Perhaps you don't understand my work. It's been an honest way to make a living for a few generations but it's so specialized it might sound foolish to someone outside the psychological industry. I psychoanalyze historical figures for history books (of course), and scholars, interested descendants, what all, and that's all I do."
"All you have done," Madison admitted, "but your government is certain that you can do this new work for them—in fact, that you are one of the few men prepared to locate this esoteric—that is, this odd aberration since I understand you often have to deal with it in analyzing the past. Doctor, we want you to find us a lonely man."
I laid my chrome yellow pencil down carefully beside the cream-colored pad.
"History is full of loneliness—most of the so-called great men were rather neurotic—but I thought, Madison, that introspection was pretty much of a thing of the, well, past."
The government representative inhaled deeply and steepled his manicured fingers.