"It was my theory."
John Henderson said, "But, Martin, I don't know what to think now. Of course there must be some fallacy that I've missed. The way things stand though, I—" He chuckled uncomfortably. "I begin to doubt myself. I can't quite classify it as an intellectual curiosity."
"What else can you do with it?" Martin said. "I know your trouble. It's a common one. You have a tendency to believe things or disbelieve them. Now you've been presented with something your intellect demands that you believe, while your experience shouts, 'lie'."
"Is Fred able to understand it?" John asked, smiling at the youngster with fond and unconscious condescension.
"Not yet," Fred smiled. "I'm still in high school."
"And if you don't want to flunk out you'd better be off to bed at once," Martin told him.
"Yes, Father. Good night, Dr. Henderson."
Fred's departure left a vacuum in the conversation that took a minute to fill. John Henderson frowned himself back to where he had been before the boy had arrived. When he got there he frowned even more, because it was a state of mental confusion that seemed to have no way of being resolved.
"Maybe we can get at it this way," he said. "Let's postulate that your theory is the only logical basis on which reality can rest. B, quite obviously reality does not rest on this basis. We could make C, therefore, that reality doesn't rest on a logical basis. But that doesn't seem to satisfy me. Maybe C could be—no—" He glanced at his watch, lifted his eyebrows and stood up. "I really didn't know it was so late. I'll have to be going, Martin. An eight o'clock lecture in the morning."
Martin made a wry face. "You've awakened my own conscience. I have an hour or two of work yet before bedtime."