One pile of stuff was directed--according to Tom's designation--only at the problem of investigating the Earth's gravitational field as for strength, direction, and conflicting urges. A transit. Now what in the name of sin would a radio engineer want with a transit? Nice piece of stuff, and far superior to the little dumpy-level that Tom used to lay out antenna arrays and directive antennas of one sort or another. But, a transit! And so the list went. $111,367.34 worth of the most interesting, best made, neatly assembled hunks of utterly impractical scientific machinery ever collected under one roof. A solid vista of impracticality as far as the eye could reach. The ton of bricks that broke the camel's back. Tom roared through the house, took a look at the chessboard and with a savage movement, took the physicist's queen with his knight. He'd get even with that physicist if it took-- Well, almost anything. * * * * * Fifteen minutes later he was in Dr. Hamilton's office, pounding on the desk. "Look," he roared, "that physicist just clipped me for my entire bankroll and then dropped me into debt by sixteen grand. I want him clipped!" "Now take it easy," said the doctor. "Remember you are talking about yourself." "Doc, if I commit suicide am I liable for murder?" "Yup. Going to try?" "Nope. Life is too interesting. My main regret with life is that I was born a hundred years too soon. My only compensation is that I may live to be a hundred, so that I can see what I've missed by being born too soon. Follow?" "You sound mentally healthy enough." "Thanks. But what about him? You've seen him." "I have. He came to me about you." "And what are you doing about it ... us?" Dr. Hamilton laughed. "Mind if I speak bluntly?" "Not at all. I can take it." "Then consider. Both you and your ... physicist ... are sensible, useful citizens. Both of you can contribute much to civilization. Both of you can and will be respectable people, for which other people will have admiration. "I am in the middle," said the doctor, "I can be no more than a referee. I see both sides. I believe the cleavage came as a result of frustration on your part--you know the details--and as such, you become him when you are frustrated. The reason why he becomes you is also clear. Whenever he finds himself in straits due to the necessity of practical thought, the slip-over occurs. You awoke with a stripping hammer in your hand, unpacking scientific equipment that the physicist bought. He, obviously, became quite worried about the financial situation upon viewing the stuff he bought and could face it no more." "Sounds reasonable."