"Of course, sir," the clerk answered, smoothing his lapels and smiling winningly. "That is what we are here for." He gave Caswell a searching look, performed an instant mental diagnosis, and tapped a gleaming white-and-copper machine. "Now this," the clerk said, "is the new Alcoholic Reliever, built by IBM and advertised in the leading magazines. A handsome piece of furniture, I think you will agree, and not out of place in any home. It opens into a television set." With a flick of his narrow wrist, the clerk opened the Alcoholic Reliever, revealing a 52-inch screen. "I need--" Caswell began. "Therapy," the clerk finished for him. "Of course. I just wanted to point out that this model need never cause embarrassment for yourself, your friends or loved ones. Notice, if you will, the recessed dial which controls the desired degree of drinking. See? If you do not wish total abstinence, you can set it to heavy, moderate, social or light. That is a new feature, unique in mechanotherapy." "I am not an alcoholic," Caswell said, with considerable dignity. "The New York Rapid Transit Corporation does not hire alcoholics." "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. "This baby'll jolt it out of you. Big, heavy-duty thrust bearings! Oversize heat absorbers! Completely insulated! Sensitivity range of over--" "I'll take it," Caswell said. "Right now. I'll pay cash." "Fine! I'll just telephone Storage and--" "This one'll do," Caswell said, pulling out his billfold. "I'm in a hurry to use it. I want to kill my friend Magnessen, you know." The clerk clucked sympathetically. "You wouldn't want to do that ... Plus five percent sales tax. Thank you, sir. Full instructions are inside." Caswell thanked him, lifted the Regenerator in both arms and hurried out.