Thomas E. Purdom

“ The young man nodded and groped with his hands. "Or else they'll be like Henry Westing," he mumbled.
Mr. Westing got up and turned off the set. He rotated it and looked at the back. There was a little box screwed in one corner.
"Very clever," he said. He tore the box off and went to bed.
He was just falling asleep when the phone rang. He reached for it in the dark.
"Westing speaking."
"Mr. Westing? This is Miss Beyle from the Organization. We're calling up to see if there are any questions you may have." ”

“ The next morning he had a hangover. He was just pouring some tomato juice when someone knocked at his door.
"Just a minute," he said.
He opened the door. A man in a tweed suit stood in the hall. He had a relaxed, pleasant face and he smoked a pipe.
"Mr. Westing?"
"Yes?"
"I'm Dr. Cooper. May I come in?" ”

“ Cooper left, and Westing looked over the literature.
He started to throw it away. Then his conscience twinged. If he was going to fight this thing, he was going to fight it honestly. He would meet their techniques of persuasion, not evade them.
He sat down and read all the pamphlets. The Need to Belong. The Sense of Unity. Testimonials from members of the Organization who had found salvation in its ranks. It was all very well done and rather weakening to a man with a hangover.
He sat for a long time in his apartment, brooding over it. ”

“ This is a very important job." The young man took a drink, the kind a man who has always drunk water takes.
"Yes, I guess it is rather important. Organizing, getting things done. A very active life."
"That's what I like, activity. I like to live, not just sit around." ”