Astounding Science Fiction, British Edition — page 47: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

THE HAPPINESS EFFECT 45 writing. I can stand a man being proud of his profession, but he ought to figure out different ways to say it instead of always the same. I cut him short with: “Yeah, I know. You’ve wrote on my brain. You’ve wrote on almost all the brains in this town. The women of this town bore all the children, but you’re sure enough the father the way you wrote on all of our brains.” “That’s a fact!’ he said, his eyes glinting in pleasure instead of seeing it how I meant it. “There aren’t a dozen folk in Benton who haven’t been improved by my scalpel—im- proved, I said,” he said, giving me a sharp look. ‘“‘Why, I remember when you was a young fellow—”’ I started to go out then because the people in the drugstore were beginning to laugh. Old Doc Roydan can really get embarrassing when he starts to reminisce. Doc Roydan has what I call an acid memory. He takes a little truth and mixes a lot of ugly conjecture with it. And he’s peered intimately into so many of our brains here in Benton that he gets individuals mixed up a lot of the time. But we really ought to appreciate him more, because there isn’t a finer brainwriter in the state. I understand that before the Social Adjustment Act of 2150 the town of Benton used to have a staff of six policemen besides the chief. Since brainwriting there’s only me and my staff of one—young Briggs who works most of the time at the brickyard. Dr. Roydan’s brought a lot of happi- ness to this town, like the Brainwriters did everywhere, and life seems a lot finer for the work those fellows have done. But there I am adjusting again, and that’s because of Doc Roydan’s stylus and whenever I remember that I’m building everything up all creamy just because of the old boy’s stylus, I sort of rebel. Just sort of. I stopped in the real estate office to see the mayor. Perry grinned at me and spoke before I could open my mouth : “We’ve been honored with the presence of an artist. His name is Arnold Vivian; he’s staying at Mrs. Barton’s Room and Board, and he doesn’t do anything all day long but paint.” “No wife?” I frowned. “No wife, no children, no nothing. He just paints.” “Listen,” I said, “as long as he just paints, that’s legal.” “True, Henry. But did you ever know an artist chap that just painted?” “How old is he?” “Old enough,” said Perry, losing his smile. “Old enough so that Doc Roydan was passing out the word to all the unattached females in town— on the sly, of course. Nothing crude. And to the Used Aircar Agency and to the brickyard and every place where they need an extra man. Arnold Vivian had better keep on just painting— there’s an awful lot of people in this town that could use a free, single man.” , I grunted and passed on. Since brainwriting we're happier, but there’re fewer of us. Of course, a small town like Benton really got it in the neck during the long manpower Shortage. It would be interesting to know what the connection was be- tween brainwriting and fewer children but that’s academic now— They’ve learned a lot since the earlier days and now the birthrate is going up. When I dropped my aircar down in Willow Hollow, Arnold Vivian was there, a sure-enough artist. with a -Sure-enough easel set up and painting EComichooksico im