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<pre>
The Project Gutenberg EBook of Confidence Game, by James McKimmey
This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with
almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or
re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included
with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org
Title: Confidence Game
Author: James McKimmey
Release Date: May 4, 2010 [EBook #32243]
Language: English
Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1
*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK CONFIDENCE GAME ***
Produced by Greg Weeks, David Wilson and the Online
Distributed Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net
</pre>
<hr class="pg" />
<div class="tnote">
<img class="framed fltleft" src="images/cover.jpg" width="227" height="299"
alt="If: Worlds of Science Fiction" title="Magazine Cover" />
<h3>Transcriber’s note:</h3>
<p>This story was published in <cite>If: Worlds of Science Fiction</cite>,
September 1954.
Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that the
U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.</p><p class="clearup"> </p>
</div>
<div class="illus">
<p class="ctr"><a name="png.001" id="png.001" href="#png.001"><span class="ns">[</span><span
class="pgmark">36</span><span class="ns">]<br
/></span></a>
<img src="images/illo-036.png" width="578" height="560"
alt="" title="" /></p>
<p><small><i>Illustrated by Ed Emsh</i></small></p>
</div>
<div class="main">
<h1>CONFIDENCE GAME</h1>
<p class="blurb"><i>Cutter demanded more and more and more efficiency—and got
it! But, as in anything, enough is enough, and too much is …</i></p>
<p class="author">By JAMES McKIMMEY, JR.</p>
<p class="noindent tb"><br class="ns"
/><a name="png.002" id="png.002" href="#png.002"><span class="ns">[</span><span
class="pgmark">37</span><span class="ns">]<br
/></span></a><span class="drop">G</span><span class="uc">eorge H. Cutter</span> wheeled
his big convertible into his reserved
space in the Company parking
lot with a flourish. A bright
California sun drove its early
brightness down on him as he
strode toward the square, four-story
brick building which said
<i>Cutter Products, Inc.</i> over its front
door. A two-ton truck was grinding
backward, toward the loading
doors, the thick-shouldered driver
craning his neck. Cutter moved
briskly forward, a thick-shouldered
man himself, though not very tall.
A glint of light appeared in his
eyes, as he saw Kurt, the truck
driver, fitting the truck's rear end
into the tight opening.</p>
<p>“Get that junk out of the way!”
he yelled, and his voice roared over
the noise of the truck's engine.</p>
<p>Kurt snapped his head around,
his blue eyes thinning, then recognition
spread humor crinkles
around his eyes and mouth. “All
right, sir,” he said. “Just a second
while I jump out, and I'll lift it
out of your way.”</p>
<p>“With bare hands?” Cutter said.</p>
<p>“With bare hands,<!-- Transcriber's note:
original has period -->” Kurt said.</p>
<p>Cutter's laugh boomed, and as
he rounded the front of the truck,
he struck the right front fender
with his fist. Kurt roared back from
the cab with his own laughter.</p>
<p>He liked joking harshly with
Kurt and with the rest of the truck
drivers. They were simple, and they
didn't have his mental strength.
But they had another kind of
strength. They had muscle and
energy, and most important, they
had guts. Twenty years before Cutter
had driven a truck himself. The
drivers knew that, and there was a
bond between them, the drivers
and himself, that seldom existed
between employer and employee.</p>
<p>The guard at the door came to
a reflex attention, and Cutter
bobbed his head curtly. Then, instead
of taking the stairway that
led up the front to the second
floor and his office, he strode down
the hallway to the left, angling
through the shop on the first floor.
He always walked through the
shop. He liked the heavy driving
sound of the machines in his ears,
and the muscled look of the men,
in their coarse work shirts and
heavy-soled shoes. Here again was
strength, in the machines and in
the men.</p>
<p><img class="fltright" src="images/illo-037.png" width="236" height="263"
alt="Confidet on a chair" title="" />And here again too, the bond between
Cutter and his employees
was a thing as real as the whir and
grind and thump of the machines,
as real as the spray of metal dust,
spitting away from a spinning saw
blade. He was able to drive himself
through to them, through the
hard wall of unions and prejudices
against business suits and white
collars and soft clean hands,
<a name="png.003" id="png.003" href="#png.003"><span class="ns">[</span><span
class="pgmark">38</span><span class="ns">]
</span></a>because they knew that at one time
he had also been a machinist and
then tool and die operator and
then a shop foreman. He got
through to them, and they respected
him. They were even inspired
by him, Cutter knew, by his energy
and alertness and steel confidence.
It was one good reason why their
production continually skimmed
along near the top level of efficiency.</p>
<p>Cutter turned abruptly and
started up the metal-lipped concrete
steps to the second floor. He
went up quickly, his square, almost
chunky figure moving smoothly,
and there was not the faintest
shortening in his breath when he
reached the level of his own office.</p>
<p>Coming up the back steps required
him to cross the entire administration
office which contained
the combined personnel of Production
Control, Procurement, and
Purchasing. And here, the sharp
edge of elation, whetted by the
walk past the loading dock and
the truck drivers and the machine
shop and the machinists, was
dulled slightly.</p>
<p>On either side of him as he
paced rapidly across the room,
were the rows of light-oak desks
which contained the kind of men
he did not like: fragile men,
whether thin or fat, fragile just
the same, in the eyes and mouth,
and pale with their fragility. They
affected steel postures behind those
desks, but Cutter knew that the
steel was synthetic, that there was
nothing in that mimicked look of
alertness and virility but posing.
They were a breed he did not understand,
because he had never
been a part of them, and so this
time, the invisible but very real
quality of employer-employee relationship
turned coldly brittle, like
frozen cellophane.</p>
<p>The sounds now, the clicking of
typewriters, the sliding of file
drawers, the squeak of adjusted
swivel chairs—all of it—irritated
him, rather than giving him inspiration,
and so he hurried his
way, especially when he passed that
one fellow with the sad, frightened
eyes, who touched his slim hands
at the papers on his desk, like a
cautious fawn testing the soundness
of the earth in front of him.
What was his name? Linden? God,
Cutter thought, the epitome of the
breed, this man: sallow and slow
and so hesitant that he appeared
to be about to leap from his chair
at the slightest alarm.</p>
<p>Cutter broke his aloofness long
enough to glare at the man, and
Linden turned his frightened eyes
quickly to his desk and began shuffling
his papers nervously. Some
day, Cutter promised himself, he
was going to stop in front of the
man and shout, “Booo!” and scare
the poor devil to hell and back.</p>
<p>He pushed the glass doors that
led to his own offices, and moving
into Lucile's ante-room restored
his humor. Lucile, matronly yet
quick and youthfully spirited,
smiled at him and met his eyes directly.
Here was some strength
again, and he felt the full energy
of his early-morning drive returning
fully. Lucile, behind her desk
in this plain but expensive reception
room, reminded him of fast,
hard efficiency, the quality of accomplishment
that he had dedicated
himself to.</p>
<p>“Goddamned sweet morning, eh,
<a name="png.004" id="png.004" href="#png.004"><span class="ns">[</span><span
class="pgmark">39</span><span class="ns">]
</span></a>Lucy?” he called.</p>
<p>“Beautiful, George,” she said. She
had called him by his first name for
years. He didn't mind, from her.
Not many could do it, but those
who could, successfully, he respected.</p>
<p>“What's up first?” he asked, and
she followed him into his own
office. It was a high-ceilinged room,
with walls bare except for a picture
of Alexander Hamilton on one
wall, and an award plaque from the
State Chamber of Commerce on
the opposite side of the room. He
spun his leather-cushioned swivel
chair toward him and sat down and
placed his thick hands against the
surface of the desk. Lucile took the
only other chair in the office, to
the side of the desk, and flipped
open her appointment pad.</p>
<p>“Quay wants to see you right
away. Says it's important.”</p>
<p>Cutter nodded slightly and closed
his eyes. Lucile went on, calling his
appointments for the day with
clicking precision. He stored the
information, leaning back in his
chair, adjusting his mind to each,
so that there would be no energy
wasted during the hard, swift day.</p>
<p>“That's it,” Lucile said. “Do you
want to see Quay?”</p>
<p>“Send him in,” Cutter said, and
he was already leaning into his
desk, signing his name to the first
of a dozen letters which he had
dictated into the machine during
the last ten minutes of the preceding
day.</p>
<p>Lucile disappeared, and three
minutes later Robert Quay took her
place in the chair beside Cutter's
desk. He was a taller man than
Cutter, and thinner. Still, there
was an athletic grace about him, a
sureness of step and facial expression,
that made it obvious that he
was physically fit. He was single
and only thirty-five, twelve years
younger than Cutter, but he had
been with Cutter Products, Inc. for
thirteen years. In college he had
been a Phi Beta Kappa and lettered
three years on the varsity as a
quarterback. He was the kind of
rare combination that Cutter liked,
and Cutter had offered him more
than the Chicago Cardinals to get
him at graduation.</p>
<p>Cutter felt Quay's presence, without
looking up at him. “Goddamned
sweet morning, eh, Bob?”</p>
<p>“It really is, George,” Quay said.</p>
<p>“What's up?” Cutter stopped
signing, having finished the entire
job, and he stared directly into
Quay's eyes. Quay met the stare
unflinchingly.</p>
<p>“I've got a report from Sid Perry
at Adacam Research.”</p>
<p>“Your under-cover agent again,
eh?”</p>
<p>Quay grinned. Adacam Research
conducted industrial experimentation
which included government
work. The only way to find out
what really went on there, Cutter
had found out, was to find a key
man who didn't mind talking for a
certain amount of compensation,
regardless of sworn oaths and signatures
to government statements.
You could always get somebody,
Cutter knew, and Quay had been
able to get a young chemist, Sidney
Perry.</p>
<p>“Okay,” Cutter said. “What are
they doing over there?”</p>
<p>“There's a fellow who's offered
Adacam his project for testing.
They're highly interested, but
they're not going to handle it.”</p>
<p><a name="png.005" id="png.005" href="#png.005"><span class="ns">[</span><span
class="pgmark">40</span><span class="ns">]<br
/></span></a>“Why not?”</p>
<p>Quay shrugged. “Too touchy. It's
a device that's based on electronics—”</p>
<p>“What the hell is touchy about
electronics?”</p>
<p>“This deals with the human personality,”
Quay said, as though that
were explanation enough.</p>
<p>Cutter understood. He snorted.
“Christ, anything that deals with
the human personality scares them
over there, doesn't it?”</p>
<p>Quay spread his hands.</p>
<p>“All right,” Cutter said. “What's
this device supposed to do?”</p>
<p>“The theory behind it is to produce
energy units which reach a
plane of intensity great enough to
affect<!-- Transcriber's note:
original reads "effect" --> the function of the human
ego.”</p>
<p>“Will it?” Cutter never wasted
time on surprise or curiosity or
theory. His mind acted directly.
Would it or wouldn't it? Performance
versus non-performance. Efficiency
versus inefficiency. Would it
improve production of Cutter Products,
Inc., or would it not?</p>
<p>“Sid swears they're convinced it
will. The factors, on paper, check
out. But there's been no experimentation,
because it involves the
human personality. This thing,
when used, is supposed to perform
a definite personality change on the
individual subjected.”</p>
<p>“How?”</p>
<p>“You know the theory of psychiatric
therapy—the theory of
shock treatment. The effect is some
what similar, but a thousand times
more effective.”</p>
<p>“What <em>is</em> the effect?”</p>
<p>“A gradual dissolving of inferiority
influences, or inhibitions, from
the personality. A clear mind resulting.
A healthy ego.”</p>
<p>“And?”</p>
<p>“Confidence.”</p>
<p>Cutter stared at Quay's eyes,
assimilating the information.
“That's all very damned nice. Now
where does it fit in with Cutter
Products?”</p>
<p>Quay drew a notebook from his
coat pocket swiftly. “You remember
that efficiency check we had
made two months ago—the rating
of individual departments on comparable
work produced?”</p>
<p>Cutter nodded.</p>
<p>Quay looked at his notebook.
“All administrative personnel departments
showed an average of—”</p>
<p>“Thirty-six point eight less efficiency
than the skilled and unskilled
labor departments,” Cutter finished.</p>
<p>Quay smiled slightly. He snapped
the notebook shut. “Right. So that's
our personnel efficiency bug.”</p>
<p>“Christ, I've known that for
twenty years,” Cutter snapped.</p>
<p>“Okay,” Quay said quickly, alerting
himself back to the serious
effort. “Now then, you'll remember
we submitted this efficiency report
to Babcock and Steele for analysis,
and their report offered no answer,
because their experience showed
that you <em>always</em> get that kind of
ratio, because of personality differences.
The administrative personnel
show more inferiority<!-- Transcriber's note:
original reads "infieriority" --> influences
per man, thus less confidence, thus
less efficiency.”</p>
<p>“I remember all that,” Cutter
said.</p>
<p>“Their report also pointed out
that this inevitable loss of efficiency
is leveled out, by proportionately
smaller wage compensation. The
administrative personnel gets
<a name="png.006" id="png.006" href="#png.006"><span class="ns">[</span><span
class="pgmark">41</span><span class="ns">]
</span></a>approximately twenty-five percent less
compensation than the skilled labor
personnel, and the remaining eleven
point eight percent loss of efficiency
is made up by the more highly
efficient unskilled labor receiving
approximately the same compensation
as the administrative personnel.”</p>
<p>“I remember all that nonsense,
too,” Cutter reddened faintly with
a sudden anger. He did not believe
the statistics were nonsense, only
that you should expect to write off
a thirty-six point eight efficiency loss
on the basis of adjusted compensation.
A thirty-six point eight efficiency
loss was a comparable loss
in profits. You never compensated
a loss in profits, except by erasing
that loss. “And so this is supposed
to fix it?”</p>
<p>Quay's head bobbed. “It's worth
a try, it seems to me. I've talked
to Sid about it extensively, and he
tells me that Bolen, who's developed
this thing, would be willing to install
enough units to cover the entire
administrative force, from the
department-head level down.”</p>
<p>“How?”</p>
<p>Quay motioned a hand. “It's no
larger than a slightly thick saucer.
It could be put inside the chairs.”
Quay smiled faintly. “They sit on
it, you see, and—”</p>
<p>Cutter was not amused. “How
much?”</p>
<p>“Nothing,” Quay said quickly.
“Absolutely nothing. Bolen wants
actual tests badly, and the Institute
wouldn't do it. Snap your fingers,
and give him a hundred and fifty
people to work on, and it's yours to
use for nothing. He'll do the installing,
and he <em>wants</em> to keep it secret.
It's essential, he says, to get an accurate
reaction from the subjects
affected<!-- Transcriber's note:
original reads "effected" -->. For him it's perfect, because
we're running a continuous
efficiency check, and if this thing
does the job like it's supposed to do
it, we'll have gained the entire
benefits for nothing. How can we
lose?”</p>
<p>Cutter stared at Quay for a moment,
his mind working swiftly.
“Call Horner in on this, but nobody
else. Absolutely nobody else.
Tell Horner to write up a contract
for this fellow to sign. Get a clause
in there to the effect that this fellow,
Bolen, assumes all responsibility
for any effects not designated
in the defining part of the contract.
Fix it up so that he's entirely
liable, then get it signed, and let's
see what happens.”</p>
<p>Quay smiled fully and stood up.
“Right, sir.” He had done a good
job, he knew. This was the sort of
thing that would keep him solidly
entrenched in Cutter's favor.
“Right, George,” he said, remembering
that he didn't need to call
Cutter sir anymore, but he knew
he wouldn't hear any more from
Cutter, because Cutter was already
looking over a blueprint, eyes thin
and careful, mind completely adjusted
to a new problem.</p>
<p class="noindent tb"><br class="ns"
/><span class="drop">E</span><span class="uc">dward Bolen</span> called the
saucer-sized disk, the Confidet.
He was a thin, short, smiling man
with fine brown hair which looked
as though it had just been ruffled
by a high wind, and he moved, Cutter
noticed, with quick, but certain
motions. The installing was done
two nights after Cutter's lawyer,
Horner, had written up the contract
and gotten it signed by Bolen. Only
<a name="png.007" id="png.007" href="#png.007"><span class="ns">[</span><span
class="pgmark">42</span><span class="ns">]
</span></a>Quay, Bolen, and Cutter were present.</p>
<p>Bolen fitted the disks into the
base of the plastic chair cushions,
and he explained, as he inserted
one, then another:</p>
<p>“The energy is inside each one,
you see. The life of it is indefinite,
and the amount of energy used is
proportionate to the demand
created.”</p>
<p>“What the hell do you mean by
energy?” Cutter demanded, watching
the small man work.</p>
<p>Bolen laughed contentedly, and
Quay flushed with embarrassment
over anyone laughing at a question
out of Cutter's lips. But Cutter did
not react, only looked at Bolen, as
though he could see somehow, beneath
that smallness and quietness,
a certain strength. Quay had seen
that look on Cutter's face before,
and it meant simply that Cutter
would wait, analyzing expertly in
the meantime, until he found his
advantage. Quay wondered, if this
gadget worked, how long Bolen
would own the rights to it.</p>
<p class="tb"><br class="ns" />Cutter drove the Cadillac into
Hallery Boulevard, as though the
automobile were an English Austin,
and just beyond the boundaries of
the city, cut off into the hills, sliding
into the night and the relative
darkness of the exclusive, sparsely
populated Green Oaks section.</p>
<p>Ten minutes later, his house, a
massive stone structure which
looked as though it had been shifted
intact from the center of some
medieval moat, loomed up, gray
and stony, and Capra, his handyman,
took over the car and drove
it into the garage, while Cutter
strode up the wide steps to the
door.</p>
<p>Niels took his hat, and Mary was
waiting for him in the library.</p>
<p>She was a rather large woman,
although not fat, and when she
wore high heels—which she was
not prone to do, because although
Cutter would not have cared, she
kept trying to project into other
people's minds and trying, as she
said, “Not to do anything to them,
that I wouldn't want them to do to
me.”—she rose a good inch above
Cutter. She was pleasant humored,
and cooperative, and the one great
irritant about her that annoyed
Cutter, was the fact that she was
not capable of meeting life wholeheartedly
and with strength.</p>
<p>She steadily worried about other
people's feelings and thoughts, so
that Cutter wondered if she were
capable of the slightest personal
conviction. Yet that weakness was
an advantage at the same time, to
him, because she worked constantly
toward making him happy. The
house was run to his minutest liking,
and the servants liked her, so
that while she did not use a strong
enough hand, they somehow got
things done for her, and Cutter had
no real complaint. Someday, he
knew, he would be able to develop
her into the full potential he knew
she was capable of achieving, and
then there wouldn't be even that
one annoyance about her.</p>
<p>He sat down in the large, worn,
leather chair, and she handed him
a Scotch and water, and kissed his
cheek, and then sat down opposite
him in a smaller striped-satin chair.</p>
<p>“Did you have a nice day, dear?”
she asked.</p>
<p>She was always pleasant and she
always smiled at him, and she was
<a name="png.008" id="png.008" href="#png.008"><span class="ns">[</span><span
class="pgmark">43</span><span class="ns">]
</span></a>indeed a handsome woman. They
had been married but five years,
and she was almost fifteen years
younger than he, but they had a
solid understanding. She respected
his work, and she was careful with
the money he allowed her, and she
never forgot the Scotch and water.
“The day was all right,” he said.</p>
<p>“My goodness,” she said, “you
worked late. Do you want dinner
right away?”</p>
<p>“I had some sandwiches at the
office,” he said, drinking slowly.</p>
<p>“That isn't enough,” she said reproachfully,
and he enjoyed her
concern over him. “You'd better
have some nice roast beef that
Andre did just perfectly. And
there's some wonderful dressing
that I made myself, for just a small
salad.”</p>
<p>He smiled finally. “All right,” he
said. “All right.”</p>
<p>She got up and kissed him again,
and he relaxed in the large chair,
sipping contentedly at his drink, listening
to her footsteps hurrying
away, the sound another indication
that she was doing something for
him. He felt tired and easy. He let
his mind relax with his body. The
gadget, the Confidet; that was going
to work, he knew. It would erase
the last important bug in his operational
efficiency, and then he might
even expand, the way he had
wanted to all along. He closed his
eyes for a moment, tasting of his
contentment, and then he heard the
sound of his dinner being placed on
the dining room table, and he stood
up briskly and walked out of the
library. He really was hungry, he
realized. Not only hungry but, he
thought, he might make love to
Mary that evening.</p>
<p class="noindent tb"><br class="ns"
/><span class="drop">T</span><span class="uc">he first</span> indication that the
Confidet might be working,
came three weeks later, when Quay
handed Cutter the report showing
an efficiency increase of 3.7 percent.
“I think that should tell the
story,” Quay said elatedly.</p>
<p>“Doesn't mean anything,” Cutter
said. “Could be a thousand other
factors besides that damned gimmick.”</p>
<p>“But we've never been able to
show more than one point five
variance on the administrative
checks.”</p>
<p>“The trouble with you, Quay,”
Cutter said brusquely, “is you keep
looking for miracles. You think the
way to get things in this world is
to hope real hard. Nothing comes
easy, and I've got half a notion
to get those damned silly things
jerked out.” He bent over his work,
obviously finished with Quay, and
Quay, deflated, paced out of the
office.</p>
<p>Cutter smiled inside the empty
office. He liked to see Quay's enthusiasm
broken now and then. It
took that, to mold a really good
man, because that way he assumed
real strength after a while. If he
got knocked down and got up
enough, he didn't fall apart when
he hit a really tough obstacle. Cutter
was not unhappy about the
efficiency figures at all, and he
knew as well as Quay that they were
decisive.</p>
<p>Give it another two weeks, he
thought, and if the increase was
comparable, then they might have
a real improvement on their hands.
Those limp, jumpy creatures on the
desks out there might actually start
earning their keep. He was thinking
about that, what it would mean to
<a name="png.009" id="png.009" href="#png.009"><span class="ns">[</span><span
class="pgmark">44</span><span class="ns">]
</span></a>the total profit, when Lucile opened
his door and he caught a glimpse of
the office outside, including the
clerk with the sad, frightened eyes.
Even you, Linden, Cutter thought,
we might even improve you.</p>
<p class="tb"><br class="ns" />The increase <em>was</em> comparable
after another two weeks. In fact,
the efficiency figure jumped to 8.9.
Quay was too excited to be knocked
down this time, and Cutter was
unable to suppress his own pleasure.</p>
<p>“This is really it this time,
George,” Quay said. “It really is.
And here.” He handed Cutter a set
of figures. “Here's what accounting
estimates the profit to be on this
eight-nine figure.”</p>
<p>Cutter nodded, his eyes thinning
the slightest bit. “We won't see
that for a while.”</p>
<p>“No,” Quay said, “but we'll see
it! We'll sure as hell see it! And if
it goes much higher, we'll absolutely
balance out!”</p>
<p>“What does Bolen figure the top
to be?”</p>
<p>“Ten percent.”</p>
<p>“Why not thirty-six point eight?”
Cutter said, his eyes bright and
narrow.</p>
<p>Quay whistled. “Even at ten, at
the wage we're paying—”</p>
<p>“Never settle for quarters or
thirds,” Cutter said. “Get the whole
thing. Send for Bolen. I want to
talk to him. And in the meantime,
Bob, this is such a goddamned sweet
morning, what do you say we go
to lunch early?”</p>
<p>Quay blinked only once, which
proved his adaptability. Cutter had
just asked him to lunch, as though
it were their habit to lunch together
regularly, when in reality,
Quay had never once gone to lunch
with Cutter before. Quay was quite
nonchalant, however, and he said,
“Why, fine, George. I think that's
a good idea.”</p>
<p class="noindent tb"><br class="ns"
/><span class="drop">B</span><span class="uc">olen</span> appeared in Cutter's
office the next morning, smiling,
his eyes darting quickly about
Cutter's desk and walls, so that
Cutter felt,<!-- Transcriber's note:
comma invisible in original --> for a moment, that
showing Bolen anything as personal
as his office, was a little like letting
the man look into his brain.</p>
<p>“Quay tells me you've set ten
percent as the top efficiency increase
we can count on, Bolen.”
Cutter said it directly, to the point.</p>
<p>Bolen smiled, examining Cutter's
hands and suit and eyes. “That's
right, Mr. Cutter.”</p>
<p>“Why?”</p>
<p>Bolen placed his small hands on
his lap, looked at the tapered fingers,
then up again at Cutter. He
kept smiling. “It's a matter of
saturation.”</p>
<p>“How in hell could ten percent
more efficiency turn into saturation?”</p>
<p>“Not ten percent more efficiency,”
Bolen said quietly. “Ten percent
<em>effect</em> on the individual who
<em>creates</em> the efficiency. Ten percent
effect of that which <em>causes</em> him to
be ten percent more efficient.”</p>
<p>Cutter snorted. “Whatever the
hell that damned gimmick does, it
creates confidence, drive, strength,
doesn't it? Isn't that what you
said?”</p>
<p>“Yes,” Bolen said politely. “Approximately.”</p>
<p>“Can you explain to me then,
how ten percent more confidence
in a man is saturation?”</p>
<p><a name="png.010" id="png.010" href="#png.010"><span class="ns">[</span><span
class="pgmark">45</span><span class="ns">]<br
/></span></a>Bolen studied what he was going
to say carefully, smiling all the
while. “Some men,” he said very
slowly, “are different than others,
Mr. Cutter. Some men will react
to personality changes as abrupt as
this in different ways than others.
You aren't too concerned, are you,
with what those changes might already
have done to any of the individuals
affected?”</p>
<p>“Hell, no,” Cutter said loudly.
“Why should I be? All I'm interested
in is efficiency. Tell me
about efficiency, and I'll know what
you're talking about.”</p>
<p>“All right,” Bolen said. “We have
no way of knowing right now which
men have been affected more than
others. All we have is an average.
The average right now is eight and
nine-tenths percent. But perhaps
you have some workers who do not
react, because they really do not
suffer the lacks or compulsions or
inhibitions that the Confidet is concerned
with. Perhaps they are working
at top efficiency right now, and
no amount of further subjection to
the Confidet will change them.”</p>
<p>“All right then,” Cutter said
quickly, “we'll ferret that kind of
deadwood out, and replace them!”</p>
<p>“How will you know which are
deadwood?” Bolen asked pleasantly.</p>
<p>“Individual checks, of course!”</p>
<p>Bolen shook his head, looking
back at his tapering fingers. “It
won't necessarily work. You see,
the work that these men are concerned
with is not particularly demanding
work, is it? And that
means you want to strike a balance
between capability and demand.
It's the unbalance of these things
that creates trouble, and in your
case, the demand outweighed the
capability. Now, if you get a total
ten-percent increase, then you're
balanced. If you go over that, you'll
break the balance all over again,
except that you'll have, in certain
cases, capability outweighing the
demand of the work.”</p>
<p>“Good,” Cutter said. “Any man
whose<!-- Transcriber's note:
original reads "who's" --> capability outweighs the work
he's doing will simply keep increasing
his efficiency.”</p>
<p>Bolen shook his head. “No. He'll
react quite the other way. He'll lose
interest, because the work will no
longer be a challenge, and then the
efficiency will drop.”</p>
<p>Cutter's jaw hardened. “All right
then. I'll move that man up, and
fill his place with someone else.”</p>
<p>Bolen looked at Cutter's eyes,
examined them curiously. “Some
men have a great deal of latent
talent, Mr. Cutter. This talent released—”</p>
<p>Cutter frowned, studying Bolen
carefully. Then he laughed suddenly.
“You think I might not be able
to handle it?”</p>
<p>“Well, let's say that you've got
a stable of gentle, quiet mares, and
you turn them suddenly into thoroughbreds.
You have to make allowances
for that, Mr. Cutter. The
same stalls, the same railings, the
same stable boys might not be able
to do the job anymore.”</p>
<p>“Yes,” Cutter said, smiling without
humor, “but the <em>owner</em> has
nothing to do with stalls and railings
and stable boys, only in the
sense that they are subsidiary. The
owner is the owner, and if he has
to make a few subsidiary changes,
all right. But nothing really affects
the owner, no matter whether
you've got gentle mares or
<a name="png.011" id="png.011" href="#png.011"><span class="ns">[</span><span
class="pgmark">46</span><span class="ns">]
</span></a>thoroughbreds.”</p>
<p>Bolen nodded, as though he had
expected that exact answer. “You
are a very certain man, aren't you,
Mr. Cutter?”</p>
<p>“Would I be here, in this office,
heading this company, if I weren't,
Bolen?”</p>
<p>Bolen smiled.</p>
<p>Cutter straightened in his chair.
“All right, do we go on? Do we
shoot for the limit?”</p>
<p>Bolen chose his words carefully.
“I am interested in testing my Confidet,
Mr. Cutter. This is the most
important thing in the world to me.
I don't recommend what you want
to do. But, as long as you'll give
me accurate reports on the effects
of the Confidet, I'll go along with
you. Providing you grant me one
concession.”</p>
<p>Cutter frowned.</p>
<p>“I want our written contract
dissolved.”</p>
<p>Cutter reddened faintly. Nobody
ever demanded anything of him
and got it easily, but his mind
turned over rapidly, judging the
increase in efficiency, the increase
in profits. He would not necessarily
have to stop with administrative
personnel. There were other departments,
too, that could stand a
little sharpening. Finally he
nodded, reluctantly. “All right,
Bolen.”</p>
<p>Bolen smiled and left quickly,
and Cutter stared at his desk for a
moment, tense. Then, he relaxed
and the hard sternness of his face
softened a bit. He put his finger
on his desk calendar, and looked at
a date Lucile had circled for him.
He grinned, and picked up the telephone,
and dialed.</p>
<p>“This is George H. Cutter,” he
said to the man who answered. “My
wife's birthday is next Saturday.
Do you remember that antique desk
I bought her last year? Good. Well,
the truth is, she uses it all the time,
so this year I'd like a good chair
to match it. She's just using an occasional
chair right now, and …”</p>
<p class="noindent tb"><br class="ns"
/><span class="drop">L</span><span class="uc">ike everything</span> he gave
her, Mary liked his gift extremely
well, and night after night,
after the birthday, he came home
to find her at the desk, using the
chair, captaining her house and her
servant staff. And the improvement
was noticeable in her, almost from
the first day. Within a month, he
could detect a remarkable change,
and for the first time, since they
had been married, Mary gave a
dinner for thirty people without
crying just before it started.</p>
<p>There were other changes.</p>
<p>Quay brought in efficiency report
after efficiency report, and by the
end of three months, they had hit
eighteen and seven-tenths percent
increase. The administrative office
was no longer the dull, listless place
it had been; now it thrived and
hummed like the shop below. Cutter
could see the difference with
his own eyes, and he could particularly
see the differences in certain
individuals.</p>
<p>Brown and Kennedy showed remarkable
improvement, but it was
really Harry Linden who astonished
Cutter. An individual check showed
a sixty-percent increase by Linden,
and there was a definite change in
the man's looks. He walked differently,
with a quick, virile step,
and the look of his face and eyes
had become strong and alive. He
<a name="png.012" id="png.012" href="#png.012"><span class="ns">[</span><span
class="pgmark">47</span><span class="ns">]
</span></a>began appearing early in the morning,
ahead of the starting hour, and
working late, and the only time he
missed any work hours, was one
afternoon, during which, Lucile informed
Cutter, he had appeared in
court for his divorce trial.</p>
<p>Within a month, Cutter had
fired Stole and Lackter and Grant,
as department heads, and replaced
them with Brown, Kennedy, and
Linden. He had formulated plans
for installation of the Confidets in
the drafting department and the
supply department, and already the
profits of increased efficiency were
beginning to show in the records.
Cutter was full of new enthusiasm
and ambition, and there was only
one thorn in the entire development.</p>
<p>Quay had resigned.</p>
<p>Cutter had been startled and
extremely angry, but Quay had
been unperturbed and stubborn.
“I've enjoyed working with you
immensely, George, but my mind
is made up. No hard feelings?”</p>
<p>Cutter had not even shaken his
hand.</p>
<p>It had bothered him for days,
and he checked every industrial
company in the area, to see where
Quay had found a better position.
He was highly surprised, when he
learned, finally, that Quay had
purchased a small boat and was
earning his living by carrying fishermen
out onto the Bay. Quay had
also married, four days after his
resignation, and Cutter pushed the
entire thing out of his mind, checking
it off to partial insanity.</p>
<p>By February of the next year, he
had promoted Harry Linden to
Quay's old job, gotten rid of the
deadwood that showed up so plainly
on the individual checks, and the
total efficiency average had reached
thirty-three percent. His and Mary's
anniversary was on the fourth of
March, and when that day arrived,
he was certain that he had reached
that point where he could expand
to another plant.</p>
<p>He was about to order her a
mink stole in celebration, but it was
also that day that he was informed
that she was suing him for divorce.
He rushed home, furious, but she
was gone. She had taken her clothes
and jewelry and the second Cadillac.
In fact, all that she had left
of her personal possessions were the
antique desk and chair. When the
trial was over, months later, she
had won enough support to take
her to France, where, he learned,
she purchased a chateau at Cannes.</p>
<p>He tried to lose himself in his
work, but for the first time in his
life, he had begun to get faintly
worried. It was only a sliver of
worry, but it kept him from going
on with the expansion. Stocks in
the company had turned over at an
amazingly rapid rate, and while it
was still nothing more than intuition
on his part, he began to tighten
up, readying himself to meet
anything.</p>
<p>The explosion came in July.</p>
<p>Drindor Products had picked up
forty-nine percent of the stock on
the market, by using secondary
buyers. There had been a leak
somewhere, Cutter realized, that
had told his competitor, Drindor,
the kind of profit he was making.
He knew who it had been instantly,
but before he could fire Harry
Linden, all of his walls crashed
down. Four months before, to put
more <i lang="fr">esprit de corps</i> into Linden,
<a name="png.013" id="png.013" href="#png.013"><span class="ns">[</span><span
class="pgmark">48</span><span class="ns">]
</span></a>he had allowed Linden eight shares
of his own stock, intending to pick
it up later from the market. Linden
had coerced with Drindor. Cutter
lost control.</p>
<p>A board of directors was elected
by Drindor, and Drindor assumed
the presidency by proxy. Harry Linden
took over Cutter's office, as
Vice President In Charge.</p>
<p>Cutter had wildly ordered Edward
Bolen to remove the Confidets
one week before, but even then he
had known that it was too late, and
the smiling, knowing look on
Bolen's face had infuriated him to
a screaming rage. Bolen remained
undisturbed, and quietly carried
the disks away. Cutter, when he
left his office that final day, moved
slowly, very slowly.</p>
<p class="noindent tb"><br class="ns"
/><span class="drop">H</span><span class="uc">e brooded</span> for many long
days after that, searching his
mind for a way to counterattack.
He still had enough stock to keep
him comfortable if he lived another
hundred years. But he no longer
had the power, and he thirsted for
that. He turned it around and
around in his brain, trying to figure
out how he could do it, and the one
thing he finally knew, the one certain
thing, was that if he used
enough drive, enough strength, then
he would regain control of the company
he had built with his own
hands and mind.</p>
<p>He paced the library and the
long living room and the dining
room, and his eyes were lost, until
he saw, through the doorway of the
sewing room, that desk and that
chair, and he remembered he
hadn't done anything about that.</p>
<p>He paused only briefly, because
he had not lost an ounce of his
ability to make a sudden decision,
and then he removed that disk and
carried it to the library and fitted it
under the cushion of the large,
worn, leather chair.</p>
<p class="tb"><br class="ns" />By fall, he had done nothing to
regain control, and he was less
certain of how he should act than
he had been months before. He
kept driving by the plant and looking
at it, but he did so carefully, so
that no one would see him, and he
was surprised to find that, above
all, he didn't want to face Harry
Linden. The memory of the man's
firm look, the sharp, bold eyes,
frightened him, and the knowledge
of his fright crushed him inside. He
wished desperately that Mary were
back with him, and he even wrote
her letters, pleading letters, but they
came back, unopened.</p>
<p>Finally he went to see Robert
Quay, because Quay was the only
man in his memory whom he somehow
didn't fear talking to. He
found Quay in a small cottage near
the beach. There was a six-day old
infant in a crib in the bedroom,
and Quay's wife was a sparkling-eyed
girl with a smile that made
Cutter feel relatively at ease for the
first time in weeks.</p>
<p>She politely left them alone, and
Cutter sat there, embarrassed faintly,
but glad to be in Quay's home
and presence. They talked of how
it had been, when Quay was with
the company, and finally Cutter
pushed himself into asking about
it:</p>
<p>“I've often wondered, Bob, why
you left?”</p>
<p>Quay blushed slightly, then
grinned. “I might as well admit it.
<a name="png.014" id="png.014" href="#png.014"><span class="ns">[</span><span
class="pgmark">49</span><span class="ns">]
</span></a>I got one of those things from
Bolen, and had it installed in my
own chair.”</p>
<p>Cutter thought about it, surprised.
He cleared his throat. “And
then you quit?”</p>
<p>“Sure,” Quay said. “All my life,
I'd wanted to do just what I'm doing.
But things just came easy to
me, and the opportunities were always
there, and I just never had
the guts to pass anything by. Finally
I did.”</p>
<p>Quay smiled at him, and Cutter
shifted in his chair. “The Confidet
did that.”</p>
<p>Cutter nodded.</p>
<p>It came to him suddenly, something
he'd never suspected until
that moment. There was something
very definitely wrong with what had
happened to him. The Confidet
had affected<!-- Transcriber's note:
original reads "effected" --> everyone but him;
there must have been something
wrong with the one he had been
using. It had worked with Mary,
but hadn't Bolen said something
about the energy being used in
proportion to the demand? Mary
had certainly created a demand.
Bolen said the life of it was indefinite,
but couldn't the energy
have been used up?</p>
<p>“Ah,” he said carefully, smiling,
to Quay. “You wouldn't have it
around, would you? That Confidet
of yours?”</p>
<p>“Oh, hell, no,” Quay said. “I
gave it to Bolen a long time ago.
He came around for it, in fact.
Said he had to keep track of all of
them.”</p>
<p>Cutter left hurriedly, with Quay
and his wife following him to his
car. He drove straight to Bolen's
house.</p>
<p>Fury built inside of him. All this
time, Bolen had kept track of his
Confidet, the one that Mary had
used, and all this time, he had
known Cutter still had it. Cutter
was furious over the realization that
Bolen had been using him for experimentation,
and also because the
Confidet that he had tried to use
had turned worthless.</p>
<p>All his hatred, all his anger
churned inside of him like the
heat from shaken coals, but when
he walked up the path to Bolen's
small house, he did so quietly, with
extreme care.</p>
<p>When he saw Bolen's face in the
doorway, he wanted to strike the
man, but he kept his hands quietly
at his sides; and though he hated
himself for it, he even smiled a
little at the man.</p>
<p>“Come in,” Bolen smiled, and
he spoke softly, and at the same
time he examined Cutter with
quick, penetrating eyes. “Come in,
Mr. Cutter.”</p>
<p>Cutter wanted to stand there and
demand another Confidet, a good
one, and not walk inside, politely,
like he did. And he wished that his
voice would come out, quickly, with
the power and hate in it that he
had once been capable of. But for
some reason, he couldn't say a
word.</p>
<p>Bolen was extremely polite.
“You've been using that Confidet,
haven't you?” He spoke gently, almost
as though he were speaking
to a frightened child.</p>
<p>“Yes,” Cutter managed to say.</p>
<p>“And what you expected to happen,
didn't. That's what you want
to tell me, isn't it?”</p>
<p>Cutter's insides quivered with
rage, but he was able only to nod.</p>
<p>“Would you like to know why?”
<a name="png.015" id="png.015" href="#png.015"><span class="ns">[</span><span
class="pgmark">50</span><span class="ns">]
</span></a>Bolen said.</p>
<p>Cutter rubbed his damp palms
over his knees. He nodded.</p>
<p>Bolen smiled, his eyes sparkling.
“Very simple really. It wasn't the
fault of the Confidet so much, Mr.
Cutter, as you. You see, you are a
rare exception. What you are, or
possibly I should say, what you
were, was a complete super ego.
There are very few of those, Mr.
Cutter, in this world, but you happened
to be one of them. A really
absolute, complete super ego, and
the Confidet's effect was simply the
reverse of what it would have been
with anyone else.” Bolen shook his
head, sympathetically, but he didn't
stop smiling, and his eyes didn't
stop their infuriating exploration
of Cutter's face and eyes and hands.
“It's really a shame, because I was
almost certain you were a super
ego, Mr. Cutter. And when you
didn't return that last Confidet, I
somehow felt that you might use
it, after all that nasty business at
the company and all.</p>
<p>“But while I was fairly certain of
the effects, Mr. Cutter, I wasn't
absolutely <em>sure</em>, you see, and so like
the rest of the experiments, I had
to forget my conscience. I'm really
very sorry.”</p>
<p>The anger was a wild thing inside
Cutter now, and it made his
hands tremble and sweat, and his
mouth quiver, and he hated the
man in front of him, the man who
was responsible for what had happened
to him, the smiling man with
the soft voice and exploring eyes.
But he didn't say anything, not a
word. He didn't show his anger or
his frustration or his resentment. He
didn't indicate to Bolen a particle
of his inner wildness.</p>
<p>He didn't have the nerve.</p>
</div>
<hr class="pg" />
<pre>
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