Produced by Robert Cicconetti, Adam Styles and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net Transcribers Note: This etext was produced from Amazing Stories June 1963. Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed. TELEMPATHY _Suppose you really knew what everyone was feeling ... suppose you had a surefire way of predicting public reaction. Wouldn't you wonder, sometimes, if it could backfire._ By VANCE SIMONDS Illustrated by SCHELLINGS [Illustration] * * * * * Huckster Heaven, in Hollywood, set out to fulfill the adman's dream in every particular. It recognized more credit cards than it offered entrees on the menu. Various atmospheres, complete with authentic decor, were offered: Tahitian, Parisian, even Afro-Cuban for the delectation of the Off-Beat Client. In every case, houris glided to and fro in appropriate native costume, bearing viands calculated to quell, at least for the nonce, harsh thoughts of the combative marketplace. Instead, beamish advertisers and their account executive hosts were plied so lavishly that soon the sounds of competitive strife were but a memory; and in the postprandial torpor, dormant dreams of largesse on the Lucullan scale came alive. In these surroundings, droppers of such names as the Four Seasons, George V, and the Stadium Club were notably silent. Campbell ("Cam") Schofft was ostentatiously honored as one of the Huckster Heaven "in-group." His business card (die-bumped and gold-dusted, of course) was one of those enshrined, under glass as it were, in the foyer. His advice concerning California land speculation was sought by the maitre d', a worthy who had sold his own posh oasis in Escondido in order to preside at H. H., as the communications fraternity affectionately styled the restaurant. Today, however, Cam was aware of Michel's subtle disapproval as they glided into the Caribbean milieu. And little wonder: The character awaiting Cam in the booth was definitely not the H. H. type. Far from being cast in the approved lean, sickly, bespectacled mold, Everett O'Toole featured jowls wider than Cam's natural shoulders; and his gut threatened to thrust their tiny table into the houris' concourse. Manhattan innkeepers often confused Everett with Ralph Kramden, a classic comic character of the Sixties still cast occasionally for the _cognoscenti_. Cam viewed this great flow of flesh with dispassionate eyes. The behemoth spoke: "Can't resist a fast megabuck, eh, Cam?" "As you know, hippo, I agreed to meet you here in the naive hope that you had something to contribute to the science of marketing," said Cam. "Science! Hah!" Everett sucked on his goblet. "I do have something to sell, but it's probably over your head."