“Sure you are. Scared dizzy. You love your family, Jimmie. You’re that kind of an egg. As loyal as a darned dog. And you’ve blown ’em high as kites, I bet. Started scenes—Biff hit you at breakfast? I thought so. You’re scared—but I’ll let you figure out of what.
You know, Jimmie, you have a lot to catch up on.”
“Evidently.”
“Think about that—for one thing.”
Jimmie suddenly had a mental picture of his father, reading the morning paper. “If your psychology is sound—if rage is a sign of fear—then my old man must be about dead of fright these days!” He described the passionate perusal.
Mr. Corinth snorted. “Yes, there’s men doing that all over the country. Sore at the president because they’re scared of what he’ll do. But that’s not the main thing these days.
That’ll wash—one way or another—according to what the majority of the American people think they want. It’s what they think they want that matters. What their attitude is. Hitler’s propaganda fellows understand that. Jimmie, how many times do you believe you can change your mind and still keep believing in yourself?” The younger man cocked an eyebrow. “I don’t get it.”
“Well, suppose—” Mr. Corinth took out a large linen handkerchief. “Suppose I said this was black. You think it’s white. But suppose I finally convince you it’s black. All right. I’ve reversed your attitude once. Now. Suppose somebody else comes along and makes you realize it’s white again. That’s twice your opinion has changed.
“Now. You’re going along thinking it’s a white handkerchief. But suppose—just for the hell of it—that the underside of this darned thing really is black. And suppose you can see a reflection of that side in a mirror. And suppose, also, it happens to be a matter of life and death importance to you that the whole handkerchief should be black. And suppose I—who have already convinced you once that it was black—start to work on you again. You have a motive for thinking this whole thing is black. I tell you it is—and prove it, let’s say, by phoney physics. Let’s say, you’ve always pretended to know a lot about physics—though you don’t. Suppose, also, a lot of men who are leaders in your field—not all, but a lot—start saying this handkerchief of mine is all black. What do you do now?
“Naturally, you get convinced again that the darned thing is as black as the Ace of Spades on both sides. Why? Because you’ve made that mistake once. Because you have a dire personal need to think it’s all black. And because the big shots above you say it’s black. Jimmie—that’s the most important thing in the world today. That’s what’s the matter with your family. They can’t start all over again with the basic facts, line ’em up impartially, change their opinions for about the fifth time, and come up once more, finally and for all, with the true bill of goods!”