His traditional glasses and whiskers were reassuring. She choked out the ritual: "Freud, forgive me, for I have neuroses." He chanted the antiphonal: "Tut, my dear girl, what seems to be the trouble?" "I got like a hole in the head," she quavered. "I seem to forget all kinds of things. Things like everybody seems to know and I don't." "Well, that happens to everybody occasionally, my dear. I suggest a vacation on Venus." The freud stared, open-mouthed, at the empty chair. His nurse came in and demanded, "Hey, you see how she scrammed? What was the matter with _her_?" He took off his glasses and whiskers meditatively. "You can search me. I told her she should maybe try a vacation on Venus." A momentary bafflement came into his face and he dug through his desk drawers until he found a copy of the four-color, profusely illustrated journal of his profession. It had come that morning and he had lip-read it, though looking mostly at the pictures. He leafed through to the article _Advantages of the Planet Venus in Rest Cures_. "It's right there," he said. The nurse looked. "It sure is," she agreed. "Why shouldn't it be?" "The trouble with these here neurotics," decided the freud, "is that they all the time got to fight reality. Show in the next twitch." He put on his glasses and whiskers again and forgot Mrs. Garvy and her strange behavior. "Freud, forgive me, for I have neuroses." "Tut, my dear girl, what seems to be the trouble?" * * * * * Like many cures of mental disorders, Mrs. Garvy's was achieved largely by self-treatment. She disciplined herself sternly out of the crazy notion that there had been only one rocket ship and that one a failure. She could join without wincing, eventually, in any conversation on the desirability of Venus as a place to retire, on its fabulous floral profusion. Finally she went to Venus. All her friends were trying to book passage with the Evening Star Travel and Real Estate Corporation, but naturally the demand was crushing. She considered herself lucky to get a seat at last for the two-week summer cruise. The space ship took off from a place called Los Alamos, New Mexico. It looked just like all the spaceships on television and in the picture magazines, but was more comfortable than you would expect. Mrs. Garvy was delighted with the fifty or so fellow-passengers assembled before takeoff. They were from all over the country and she had a distinct impression that they were on the brainy side. The captain, a tall, hawk-faced, impressive fellow named Ryan-Something or other, welcomed them aboard and trusted that their trip would be a memorable one. He regretted that there would be nothing to see because, "due to the meteorite season," the ports would be dogged down. It was disappointing, yet reassuring that the line was taking no chances.