Authentic Science Fiction Monthly No. 71 — page 97: what you’re looking at

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

AUTHENTIC SCIENCE FICTION to fat dividends paid regu- larly for money invested in gilt-edged shares. But he tried. He tried because the initial drive which had led him first to study medicine, then psychiatry, had not yet been smothered by economic necessity. So he became more and more the beggar and less and less the man of science and, somehow, he managed to keep the hospital barely solvent. *“You see, Mrs. Cauldwell,”’ he said, and smiled as he said it. ““We each of us have a _ duty to the unfortunate. They come to us, the rich, the poor, the mentally ill, and we give them the best we have so that they may, once again, take their places in society.” Mrs. Cauldwell nodded. She was a fat woman, too fat, with a chin which kept beauticians happy, and a skin which defied cosmetics to appear youthful. She sat in Hammond’s office and let her shrewd little eyes survey the luxurious appointments. And they were luxurious. 26 Hammond was no fool and knew his psychology. He knew that poverty repels and wealth attracts. So he had squandered needed money on satin-smooth panels, thick carpets, silver accessories on his walnut desk, expensive prints on his walls. The office reeked of money, of luxury, of comfort. It was a snare to garner more of the same. “Td like to help,” admitted Mrs. Cauldwell. “I think that charity is one of the highest virtues, but...” Her hesitation was obvious and Hammond sighed as he prostituted his art. The woman was willing to spend, willing to make a fat donation, but first she wanted him to con- vince her that she was doing a fine thing, a great thing, a wonderful thing. Privately, he wished that he could tell her just what to do with her money. Instead, he told her what she wanted to hear. He piled it on. Words cost nothing, and her money was more important to him than conmmiclsooks.con