aphoring his arm. "... Two ... three ... Gussy, I've put
through a voucher for two yards for you. Budgeting squawked, but I
pressured 'em."

Daisy squealed, "Yards!--are those dollar thousands?" while Gusterson
was asking, "Then you're marketing the tickler?"

"Yes. Yes," Fay replied to them in turn. "... Nine ... ten ..." Again
he grinned and twitched. "Time for noon Com-staff," he announced
staccato. "Pardon the hush box." He whipped a pancake phone from under
his coat, clapped it over his face and spoke fiercely but inaudibly
into it, continuing to semaphore. Suddenly he thrust the phone away.
"Twenty-nine ... thirty ... Thar she blows!"

An incandescent streak shot up the sky from a little above the far
horizon and a doubly dazzling point of light appeared just above the
top of it, with the effect of God dotting an "i".

"Ha, that'll skewer espionage satellites like swatting flies!" Fay
proclaimed as the portent faded. "Bracing! Gussy, where's your
tickler? I've got a new spool for it that'll razzle-dazzle you."

"I'll bet," Gusterson said drily. "Daisy?"

"You gave it to the kids and they got to fooling with it and broke
it."

"No matter," Fay told them with a large sidewise sweep of his hand.
"Better you wait for the new model. It's a six-way improvement."

"So I gather," Gusterson said, eyeing him speculatively. "Does it
automatically inject you with cocaine? A fix every hour on the
second?"

"Ha-ha, joke. Gussy, it achieves the same effect without using any
dope at all. Listen: a tickler reminds you of your duties and
opportunities--your chances for happiness and success! What's the
obvious next step?"

* * * * *

"Throw it out the window. By the way, how do you do that when you're
underground?"

"We have hi-speed garbage boosts. The obvious next step is you give
the tickler a heart. It not only tells you, it warmly persuades you.
It doesn't just say, 'Turn on the TV Channel Two, Joyce program,' it
_brills_ at you, 'Kid, Old Kid, race for the TV and flip that Two
Switch! There's a great show coming through the pipes this second plus
ten--you'll enjoy the hell out of yourself! Grab a ticket to
ecstasy!'"

"My God," Gusterson gasped, "are those the kind of jolts it's giving
you now?"

"Don't you get it, Gussy? You never load your tickler except when
you're feeling buoyantly enthusiastic. You don't just tell yourself
what to do hour by hour next week, you sell your