He glanced at the breakfast and seated himself. "I have been awake for forty hours."
"Eh dear!" said Mwres: "fancy that! You hypnotists have your work to do."
The hypnotist helped himself to some attractive amber-coloured jelly. "I happen to be a good deal in request," he said modestly.
"Heaven knows what we should do without you."
"Oh! we're not so indispensable as all that," said the hypnotist, ruminating the flavour of the jelly. "The world did very well without us for some thousands of years. Two hundred years ago even—not one! In practice, that is. Physicians by the thousand, of course—frightfully clumsy brutes for the most part, and following one another like sheep—but doctors of the mind, except a few empirical flounderers there were none."
He concentrated his mind on the jelly.
"But were people so sane—?" began Mwres.
The hypnotist shook his head. "It didn't matter then if they were a bit silly or faddy. Life was so easy-going then. No competition worth speaking of—no pressure. A human being had to be very lopsided before anything happened. Then, you know, they clapped 'em away in what they called a lunatic asylum."
