John MacDonald - Trojan Horse Laugh

At last she looked up. Joe said: “What’s new on delirium today, kitten?”

“I find your attitude offensive,” she said. The words were prim and proper. The tone was husky gold, a warm wrapping for hidden caress.

Joe smiled brightly. “I find happiness offensive. So we’re even. What can I put in the paper, Mona Lisa?”

She shuffled the papers on her desk. “I have just compiled a report on the first month of operation of the Quinby Candy Company since the last of their employees received the booster shot. You will have to clear this report with Mr. Quinby before publishing it. He reports a six point three percent drop in absenteeism, a two percent drop in pilferage, an eleven percent drop in tardiness. Total production was up eight point eight percent over the preceding month, with a drop in rejections and spoilage and consequent increase in estimated net profit from the yearly average of four point six percent to five point three percent. The fee to adjust his workers was two thousand three hundred four dollars. It is Mr. Quinby’s estimate that he recovered this initial cost in the first two weeks of operation.”

“How nice for him,” Joe said, glancing at the figures he had scribbled in his notebook. He said: “How did a dish like you get into this racket?”

“Dr. Lewsto employed me.”

“I mean in the statistics game.”

She gave him a long, steady look. “Mr. Morgan, I have found that figures are one of the few things in life you can depend upon.”

“I thought you could depend on the kind of happiness that you people sell.” He looked at the bronze button she wore.

She followed the direction of his glance, looked down at the button. She said: “I’m afraid I’m not entitled to wear this. Dr. Lewsto insisted that it would be better for morale for me to wear it. But a statistician must maintain a rigidly objective attitude. To become adjusted might prejudice that altitude.”

“How about Lewsto? He wears one.”

“It is the same thing with him. The backers felt that, as administrator, he should refrain from becoming adjusted.”

“Just like the restaurant owner who goes out to lunch?”

He saw her first smile. It rang like hidden silver bells. “Something like that, Mr. Morgan.”

He sighed. “Well, how far are we as of today?”

“New patients are in the eleven thousand series. Fifty-nine hundred totally adjusted.”

“Where are those fifty-nine hundred on the chart?”

She stood up, took a pointer and touched it to the big chart on the wall behind her. “Right hero. In three days they will be at the peak. They will remain at the peak for five days, then five days of regression before they begin the climb back up again.”

Joe said softly: “It gives me a funny feeling in the pit of my stomach. AU those people being pushed through an emotional cycle like cattle being herded down the runways in Chicago.”

“You’d change your attitude if you would submit to adjustment.”

Joe stood up and stretched. “Exactly what I’m afraid of, friend. Morgan, the Unadjusted. That’s me.”

At the door he turned and waved, at her. But she was studying reports and she did not look up.

FROM GIMMY RIKER’S COLUMN IN THE NEW YORK STANDARD TRIBUNE: “The bays with the beards couldn’t find anything wrong with one Doc Lewsto and his gland hand, so, financed by mysterious backers. Doc Lewsto is turning the tanktown of Daylon into a carnival of joy. They say that things are so gay over there lately that the Federal Narcotics people are watching it. If the national debt is getting you down, maybe you ought to run over and let the good doctor give you the needle?”

FROM AN EDITORIAL IN THE HOTEL-KEEPERS’ GUIDE FOR JUNE: “If this sale of Happiness is extended on a country-wide basis, it is evident from reports we have received from our Daylon members, that managers of bars, clubs and hotels will have to make alterations in basic policy. The money coming into the till closely follows the emotional cycle set up by Dr. August Lewsto to such a degree that during the peak of the curve our members were unable to meet the demand, whereas, at the bottom of the curve, business felt off to nothing. However, the overall picture on a monthly basis showed a fifteen to eighteen percent improvement.”

FROM THE MINUTES OF A SECRET MEETING IN THE PENTAGON BUILDING, EXCERPT FROM THE SUMMARY BY LIEUTENANT GENERAL GRADERSBY: “Thus, gentlemen, we can conclude that this sociological experiment in Daylon constitutes no threat to our essential defense production at the X plant four miles distant. In fact, production has improved as has the quality of the end product. It is agreed that it is only coincidence that this experiment by Happiness, Incorporated was set up in the nearest city to X plant, the only current manufacturer of that item so essential to our military strength. However, it is recommended that a committee be formed to consider the question of setting up an alternate facility and that all necessary steps be taken to implement and facilitate the formation of such a committee and that the workings of this committee be facilitated by a further implementation of—”

DECODED EXCERPT FROM AN INNOCENT-APPEARING PERSONAL LETTER SENT TO DR. AUGUST LEWSTO: “Units B, C, D and E have arrived at the key cities originally indicated. Your reports excellent, providing basis for immediate industrial contracts, one of which already signed involving five thousand workers in basic industry with subcontract for propulsion units. Forward subsequent reports of progress directly to men in charge of indicated units, detailing to each of them five trained technicians from your staff. Report in usual way when booster shot record reaches fifty percent total population Daylon.”

Joe Morgan, before going up to the news room, went into the room off the lobby of the News Building where Sadie Barnum and two other girls handled many details including the taking of classified advertising.

He didn’t see Sadie, Julie, the redhead, winked over the shoulder of a man laboriously writing out an ad. Joe leaned against the wall until the man had paid and gone.

“Where‘s my gal?” Joe asked.

“Which one. I’m here, Joey.”

“You’re for Thursdays. I want today’s gal, the ineffable, Miss Barnum?”

“She hit Glance for an extra hour tacked onto her lunch hour. Love must wait.”

Joe turned toward the door. “Tell her to buzz me when she gets in.”

He went up winked at the city editor, walked down to his desk, rolled a sheet of paper into the machine and stared glumly at it. Small warning bells seemed to be ringing in the back of his mind. Lie was all set to write the story of the second big period of depression, of what happened to Daylon when twenty-two thousand of the adjusted had a simultaneous slump, but he couldn’t get his mind off Sadie. She had been a bit difficult about his refusal to be adjusted the night before.

On a hunch he hurried out, climbed into his asthmatic car and roared to Caroline Street. He parked in the bus stop, went down the line looking for Sadie. When he did not see her, he began to breathe more slowly. He had a hunch that it would somehow turn out to be a very bad thing if Sadie were inoculated.

He was glad that he had been wrong. He glanced back at his car, saw the cop writing out a ticket. As he turned to hurry back, he saw Sadie come out the exit door of Happiness, Incorporated.

Muttering, he ran to her, look hold of her arm, spinning her around.

“Hey, my vaccination!” she said, looking up at him with a wide smile.

“You little dope!” he said. “You feather-headed little female cretin! What on earth possessed you to join this rat race.”