The news story exploded.  Let loose on an overcrowded planet which had lost all hope of relief after fifty years in which only the moon had been colonized—­and its colony had a population in the hundreds, only—­the idea of faster-than-light travel was the one impossible dream that everybody wanted to believe in.  The story spread in a manner that could only be described as chain-reaction in character.  And of course Dabney—­as the scientist responsible for the new hope—­became known to all peoples.

The experts of Kursten, Kasten, Hopkins and Fallowe checked on the publicity given to Dabney.  Strict advertising agency accounting figured that to date the cost-per-customer-mention of Dabney and his discovery were the lowest in the history of advertising.  Surveys disclosed that within three Earth-days less than 3.5 of every hundred interviews questioned were completely ignorant of Dabney and the prospect of travel to the stars through his discovery.  More people knew Dabney’s name than knew the name of the President of the United States!

That was only the beginning.  The leading popular-science show jumped eight points in audience-rating.  It actually reached top-twenty rating when it assigned a regular five-minute period to the Dabney Field and its possibilities in human terms.  On the sixth day after Jamison’s calculated indiscretion, the public consciousness was literally saturated with the idea of faster-than-light transportation.  Dabney was mentioned in every interview of every stuffed shirt, he was referred to on every comedy show (three separate jokes had been invented, which were developed into one thousand eight hundred switcheroos, most of them only imperceptibly different from the original trio) and even Marilyn Winters—­Little Aphrodite Herself—­was demanding a faster-than-light-travel sequence in her next television show.

On the seventh day Bill Holden came into the office where Cochrane worked feverishly.

“Doctor Cochrane,” said Holden, “a word with you!”

“Doctor?” asked Cochrane.

“Doctor!” repeated Holden.  “I’ve just been interviewing my patient.  You’re good.  My patient is adjusted.”

Cochrane raised his eyebrows.

“He’s famous,” said Holden grimly.  “He now considers that everybody in the world knows that he is a great scientist.  He is appreciated.  He is happily making plans to go back to Earth and address a few learned societies and let people admire him.  He can now spend the rest of his life being the man who discovered the principle by which faster-than-light-travel will some day be achieved.  Even when the furor dies down, he will have been a great man—­and he will stay a great man in his own estimation.  In short, he’s cured.”

Cochrane grinned.

“Then I’m fired?”

“We are,” said Holden.  “There are professional ethics even among psychiatrists, Jed.  I have to admit that the guy now has a permanent adjustment to reality.  He has been recognized as a great scientist.  He is no longer frustrated.”