“I’ll bet it will,” Malone said. “Before I can call myself a telepath I’m going to have to get thoroughly used to the idea. And that’s going to take a long, long time indeed.”
“You only think that,” Sir Lewis said. “Actually, you’re used to the idea now. That was Andrew’s big job.”
“His big job?” Malone said. “Now, wait a minute—”
“You don’t think I picked you for our first psionics case out of thin air, do you?” Burris said. “Before anything else, you had to be forced to accept the fact that such things as telepaths really existed.”
“Oh, they do,” Malone said. “They certainly do.”
“There’s me, for instance,” Burris said. “But you had to be convinced. So I ordered you to go out and find one.”
“Like the Bluebird of Happiness,” Malone said.
Burris frowned. “What’s like the Bluebird of Happiness?” he said.
“You are,” Malone said.
“I am not,” Burris said indignantly. “Bluebirds eat worms. My God, Malone.”