Before Infield could move, Reggie came and set both drinks on a little circular tray. He moved away. "I knew it. That's all he did, just look at the drink. Makes me laugh."
Price wiped the sweat off his palms. Infield sat and thought. Mrs. Price cooed to the rag doll, unmindful of either of them now.
"You were explaining," the psychiatrist said. "You were going to tell me how you were going to Cure the Incompletes."
"I said we were going to do it. Actually you will play a greater part than I, Doctor Infield."
The psychiatrist sat rigidly.
"You didn't think you could give me your right name in front of your own office building and that I wouldn't recognize you? I know some psychiatrists are sensitive about wearing Cures themselves, but it is a mark of honor of the completely sane man. You should be proud of your Cure and eager to Cure others. Very eager."
"Just what do you mean?" He already suspected Price's meaning.
Price leaned forward. "There is one phobia that is so wide-spread, a Cure is not even thought of—hypochondria. Hundreds of people come to your office for a Cure and you turn them away. Suppose you and the other Cured psychiatrists give everybody who comes to you a Cure?"
Infield gestured vaguely. "A psychiatrist wouldn't hand out Cures unless they were absolutely necessary."
"You'll feel differently after you've been Cured for a while yourself. Other psychiatrists have."