On the coffee table in front of Macklin were some odd-shaped building blocks such as were used in nursery schools. A second uniformed man—another colonel but with the snake-entwined staff of the medical corps in his insignia—was kneeling at the table on the marble-effect carpet.
The Army physician stood up and brushed his knees, undusted from the scrupulously clean rug.
"What's wrong with him, Sidney?" the other officer asked the doctor.
"Not a thing," Sidney said. "He's the healthiest, happiest, most well-adjusted man I've ever examined, Carson."
"But—" Colonel Carson protested.
"Oh, he's changed all right," the Army doctor answered. "He's not the same man as he used to be."
"How is he different?" Mitchell demanded.
The medic examined Mitchell and Ferris critically before answering. "He used to be a mathematical genius."
"And now?" Mitchell said impatiently.
"Now he is a moron," the medic said.