"I don't know," I said. "I just don't know."

We both sat in silence, then.

"Listen," I said, "I'm going to take you back to Boise and take you to see Doctor Horstowski. It won't do you any harm and he may be able to do something about these depressions. Is it okay with you?"

Now the Lincoln seemed calmer; it had brought out a large red handkerchief and was blowing its nose. "Thank you for your concern," it said from behind the handkerchief.

"A drink," I said. "Or a cup of coffee or something to eat."

The simulacrum shook its head no.

"When did you first notice the onset of these depressions?" I asked. "I mean, in your youth. Would you like to talk about them? Tell me what comes to your mind, what free associations you have. Please. I have a feeling it'll make you feel better."

The Lincoln cleared its throat and said, "Will Mr. Barrows and his party be returning?"

"I doubt it. They invited us to come along; they're going over to Mrs. Nild's apartment."

The Lincoln gave me a long, slow, queer look. "Why are they going there and not to Mr. Barrows' house?"

"The liquor's there. That's what Dave Blunk said, anyhow."

The Lincoln cleared its throat again, drank a little water from the glass before it on the table. The strange look remained on its face, as if there was something it did not understand, as if it was puzzled but at the same time enlightened.

"What is it?" I said.

There was a pause and then the Lincoln said suddenly, "Louis, _go over to Mrs. Nild's apartment_. Waste no time."

"Why?"

"She must be there."

I felt my scalp tingle.

"I think," the simulacrum said, "she has been living there with Mrs. Nild. I will go back to the motel, now. Don't worry about me--if necessary I am capable of returning to Boise on my own, tomorrow. Go at once, Louis, before their party arrives there."

I scrambled to my feet. "I don't--"

"You can obtain the address from the telephone book."

"Yeah," I said, "that's so. Thanks for the advice, I really appreciate it. I have a feeling you've got a good idea, there. So I'll see you, then. So long. And if--"

"Go," it said.

I went.

At an all-night drugstore I consulted the phone book. I found Colleen Nild's address and then went outside onto the sidewalk and flagged down a cab. At last I was on my way.

Her building was a great dark brick apartment house. Only a few windows were lit up, here and there. I found her number and pressed the button next to it. After a long time the small speaker made a static noise and a muffled female voice asked who I was.

"Louis Rosen." Was it Pris? "Can I come up?" I asked.

The heavy glass and black wrought-iron door buzzed; I leaped to catch it and pushed it open. In a moment I had crossed the deserted lobby and was climbing the stairs to the third floor. It was a long climb and when I reached her door I was panting and tired.

The door was open. I knocked, hesitated, and then went on inside the apartment.

In the living room on a couch sat Mrs. Nild with a drink in her hand, and across from her sat Sam Barrows. Both of them glanced up at me.

"Hi, Rosen." Barrows inclined his head toward a coffee table on which stood a bottle of vodka, lemons, mixer, lime juice and ice cubes and glasses. "Go ahead, help yourself."

Not knowing what else to do I went over and busied myself.

While I was doing that Barrows said, "I have news for you. Someone very dear to you is in there." He pointed with his glass. "Go look in the bedroom." Both he and Mrs. Nild smiled.

I set down my drink and hurried in the direction of the door.

"How did you happen to change your mind and come here?" Barrows asked me, swirling his drink.

I said, "The Lincoln thought Pris would be here."

"Well, Rosen, I hate to say it, but in my opinion it did you a rotten favor. You're really bats to let yourself get hooked by that girl."

"I don't agree."

"Hell, that's because you're sick, all three of you, Pris and the Lincoln and you. I tell you, Rosen, Johnny Booth was worth a million of the Lincolns. I think what we'll do is patch it up and use it for our Lunar development... after all, Booth is a good old familiar American name; no reason why the family next door can't be named Booth. You know, Rosen, you must come to Luna someday and see what we've done. You have no conception of it, none at all. No offense, but it's impossible to understand from here; you have to go there."

"That's so, Mr. Rosen," Mrs. Nild said.

I said, "A successful man doesn't have to stoop to bamboozlement."

"Bamboozlement!" Barrows exclaimed. "Hell, it was an attempt to nudge people into doing what they're going to be doing someday anyhow. Oh hell, I don't want to argue. This has been quite a day; I'm tired. I feel no animosity toward anyone." He grinned at me. "If your little firm had linked up with us--you must have had an intuition of what it would have meant; you picked me out, I didn't pick you out. But it's water over the dam for you, now. Not for me; we'll go on and do it, possibly using the Booth--but anyhow in some manner, by some means."

Mrs. Nild said, "Everyone knows that, Sam." She patted him.

"Thanks, Collie," Barrows said. "I just hate to see the guy this way, no goals, no vision, no ambitions. It's heartbreaking. It is."

I said nothing; I stood at the bedroom door, waiting for them to finish talking to me.

To me Mrs. Nild said, "Go ahead on in. You might as well."

Taking hold of the knob I opened the bedroom door.

The bedroom lay in darkness. In the center I could make out the outlines of a bed. On the bed a figure lay. It had propped itself up with a pillow, and it was smoking a cigarette; or was it actually a cigarette? The bedroom smelled of cigar smoke. Hurrying to a light switch I turned on the light.

In the bed lay my father, smoking a cigar and regarding me with a frowning, thoughtful expression. He had on his bathrobe and pajamas, and beside the bed he had placed his fur-lined slippers. Next to the slippers were his suitcase and his clothes neatly piled.

"Close the door, _mein Sohn_," he said in a gentle voice.

Bewildered, I automatically complied; I shut the door behind me but not quickly enough to obliterate the howls of laughter from the living room, the roars from Sam Barrows and Mrs. Nild. What a joke they had played on me, all this time; all their talk, solemn and pretentious--knowing that Pris was not in here, was not in the apartment at all, that the Lincoln had been mistaken.

"A shame, Louis," my father said, evidently reading my expression. "Perhaps I should have stepped out and put an end to the banter, and yet I was interested in what Mr. Barrows said; it was not entirely beside the point, was it? He is a great man in some ways. Sit down." He nodded toward the chair by the bed, and I sat.

"You don't know where she is?" I said. "You can't help me either?"

"Afraid not, Louis."

It was not even worth it to get up and leave. This was as far as I could go, here to this chair, beside my father's bed, as he sat smoking.

The door burst open and a man with his face on upside down appeared, my brother Chester, bustling and full of importance. "I've got a good room for us, Dad," he said, and then, seeing me, he smiled happily. "So here you are, Louis; after all our trouble we at last manage to locate you."

"Several times," my father said, "I was tempted to correct Mr. Barrows; however, a man like him can't be reeducated, so why waste time?"

I could not bear the idea that my father was about to launch into one of his philosophical tirades; sinking down on the chair and pretending not to hear him I made his words blur into fly-like buzzing. In my stupor of disappointment I imagined how it would have been if there had been no joke played on me, if I had found Pris here in this room, lying on the bed.