"I can't. We never give up." "I see. Good night, young man." He tried to close the door. Before he was quite certain what was happening, the young man had slipped into the apartment. "I'm going to a concert," Mr. Westing said. "They're playing Brahms' First. I've never heard it and I've been looking forward to hearing it ever since I heard his Second. I'd appreciate it if you left." "But don't you _want_ to belong, Mr. Westing?" "No." "Not to anything?" "No." The young man shook his head. "But most people are glad to join. We offer them what they've been looking for all their lives." "Then go see them." He put on his jacket and adjusted his tie. "Care for a drink?" "I don't drink." "Why not?" "It interferes with my work. We're out to double the size of the Organization. I work very hard at it." "Do you? Why?" "It gives me a sense of belonging." Mr. Westing started for the door. "I'm about to leave," he said. "I think it would be best if you left too." The young man sighed. "I can see where you're going to be a difficult case." "Probably. Will you turn off the light, please?" * * * * * He met his date and immediately put the incident out of his mind. They listened to Brahms' First and it was everything Westing had hoped it would be. Afterwards, when they were sitting in a bar, he told her about the Organization. The girl seemed surprised. It was the second time he had taken her out and she didn't know him very well. "You ought to belong to something," she said. "Why don't you join?" "You mean that?" "Everybody should belong to something. You can't be useless." "I'm not useless. I make my contribution. More than most people, in fact." "But you can't just live for yourself." "Why not?" She struggled. "Because you can't," she said. He took her home when the bar closed at midnight. The conversation was one he had engaged in with other girls but it still depressed him. He hopped the subway and went across the river to Camden, New Jersey, where they are more reasonable about the hours at which bars remain open. * * * * * The next morning he had a hangover. He was just pouring some tomato juice when someone knocked at his door. "Just a minute," he said. He opened the door. A man in a tweed suit stood in the hall. He had a relaxed, pleasant face and he smoked a pipe. "Mr. Westing?" "Yes?" "I'm Dr. Cooper. May I come in?" "I didn't ask for a doctor. I could use one but I haven't called one yet." "Oh? What's your trouble?" "Hangover. I had a rugged night." "Why? What made you do a thing like that?" He shrugged. "It's hard to say." "Insecurity," Dr. Cooper said. "Many people try to evade their insecurities by drinking. Why don't you tell me about it?" He hesitated. "Well," he said. "It's early." Dr. Cooper started forward and he automatically stepped back to let him in. "Who sent you anyway?" he asked. "Didn't they tell you I was coming?"