SCENT MAKES A DIFFERENCE By JAMES STAMERS Illustrated by DICK FRANCIS [Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from Galaxy Magazine April 1961. Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.] What I wanted was a good night's sleep. What I got was visitation rights with the most exasperating pack of sleepwalkers in history. A fried egg came floating up through the stone steps of the Medical Center and broke on my shoe. According to my watch, it was time for the breakfast I didn't have that morning, so I waited a moment for the usual two rashers of bacon. When they materialized, I hopped aside to avoid them and went back into the building, where the elevator took me straight up to the psychiatric floor, without asking. "Your blood pressure, salts, minerals, vitamins, basal metabolism, brain pattern, nervous reflexes and skin temperature control are within accepted tolerances," it droned, opening the doors to let me off. "You have no clinical organic disorders; you weigh a hundred and fifty-two pounds, Earth, measure six feet one inch, and have a clear pallid complexion and an egg on your shoe." I walked down the corridor to Dr. Doogle Spacio-Psycho Please Enter and went determinedly in. "Name, please," said the blonde receptionist, tapping her nail eroder. "Jones. Harry Jones." "Mr. Harry K. Jones, the physicist?" "Yes." "Oh, no," she said, fiddling with the appointment list, "Mr. Harry K. Jones has just had his morning appointment and left." "I know," I said. "An important piece of clinical data has just turned up. I have returned with an egg on my shoe." "I think you'd better see the doctor." I sat down to wait and took the little bottle of pills from my pocket. "From the Galaxy to you, through Dr. Doogle, Spacio-Psycho," it said on the label. "The last word in tranquilizers. Conservative Zen methods only, appointments any hour, first consultation free, no obligation, call personal transmitter DDK 51212-6790, Earth. Active ingredients oxylatohydrobenzoic-phe-ophenophino, sugar, coloring to 100%." * * * * * The inner office door opened and Dr. Doogle smiled fatly at me from behind his expensive desk. "Do come in," he called, "and tell me all about it." "It's happened again," I said, going into his office. "Well, why not, if you feel that way? Nurse, bring me Mr. Hing-humph's case history." "Mr. Har-ry K. Jo-nes' film is in the transcriber, Doctor," said the receptionist. "Mr. Jones, the physicist." "Ah, yes, of course. Please sit down, Mr. Jones. Now what exactly is the trouble? Hold nothing back, tell me all, reveal your intimate thoughts." "The main entrance just served me the breakfast that your diet forbids," I said, sitting down.