"
"Oh," said the clerk, glancing distrustfully at Caswell's bloodshot
eyes. "You seem a little nervous. Perhaps the portable Bendix Anxiety
Reducer--"
"Anxiety's not my ticket, either. What have you got for homicidal
mania?"
The clerk pursed his lips. "Schizophrenic or manic-depressive origins?"
"I don't know," Caswell admitted, somewhat taken aback.
"It really doesn't matter," the clerk told him. "Just a private theory
of my own. From my experience in the store, redheads and blonds are
prone to schizophrenia, while brunettes incline toward the
manic-depressive."
"That's interesting. Have you worked here long?"
"A week. Now then, here is just what you need, sir." He put his hand
affectionately on a squat black machine with chrome trim.
"What's that?"
"That, sir, is the Rex Regenerator, built by General Motors. Isn't it
handsome? It can go with any decor and opens up into a well-stocked
bar. Your friends, family, loved ones need never know--"
"Will it cure a homicidal urge?" Caswell asked. "A strong one?"
"Absolutely. Don't confuse this with the little ten amp neurosis
models. This is a hefty, heavy-duty, twenty-five amp machine for a
really deep-rooted major condition."
"That's what I've got," said Caswell, with pardonable pride.
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