Philip Van Doren Stern (ed) (55 page)

He
caught up the lamp swiftly, and carried it, flaring red, through the door into
the corridor. We followed him. There in the flickering light of the lamp was
the machine sure enough, squat, ugly, and askew; a thing of brass, ebony,
ivory, and translucent glimmering quartz. Solid to the touch—for I put out my
hand and felt the rail of it—and with brown spots and smears upon the ivory,
and bits of grass and moss upon the lower parts, and one rail bent awry.

The
Time
Traveller
put
the
lamp
down
on
the
bench,
and
ran his
hand
along
the
damaged
rail.
"It's
all
right
now,"
he
said.
"The story
I
told
you
was
true.
I'm
sorry
to
have
brought
you
out
here in
the
cold."
He
took
up
the
lamp,
and,
in
an
absolute
silence,
we returned
to
the
smoking-room.

He
came
into
the
hall
with
us
and
helped
the
Editor
on
with
his coat.
The
Medical
Man
looked
into
his
face
and,
with
a
certain hesitation,
told
him
he
was
suffering
from
overwork,
at
which
he laughed
hugely.
I
remember
him
standing
in
the
open
doorway, bawling
good-night.

I
shared
a
cab
with
the
Editor.
He
thought
the
tale
a
"gaudy
lie." I''or
my
own
part
I
was
unable
to
come
to
a
conclusion.
The
story was
so
fantastic
and
incredible,
the
telling
so
credible
and
sober.
I lay
awake
most
of
the
night
thinking
about
it.
I
determined
to
go next
day
and
see
the
Time
Traveller
again.
I
was
told
he
was
in
the laboratory,
and
being
on
easy
terms
in
the
house,
I
went
up
to
him. 'llie
laboratory,
however,
was
empty.
I
stared
for
a
minute
at
the
Time Machine
and
put
out
my
hand
and
touched
the
lever.
At
that
the squat,
substantial-looking
mass
swayed
like
a
bough
shaken
by
the wind.
Its
instability
startled
me
extremely,
and
I
had
a
queer
reminiscence
of
the
childish
days
when
I
used
to
be
forbidden
to
meddle.
I came
back
through
the
corridor.
The
Time
Traveller
met
me
in
the smoking-room.
He
was
coming
from
the
house.
He
had
a
small camera
under
one
arm
and
a
knapsack
under
the
other.
He
laughed when
he
saw
me,
and
gave
me
an
elbow
to
shake.
"I'm
frightfully busy,"
said
he,
"with
that
thing
in
there."

"But
is
it
not
some
hoax?"
I
said.
"Do
you
really
travel
through time?"

"Really
and
truly
I
do."
And
he
looked
frankly
into
my
eyes.
He hesitated.
His
eye
wandered
about
the
room.
"I
only
want
half
an hour,"
he
said.
"I
know
why
you
came,
and
it's
awfully
good
of
you. There's
some
magazines
here.
If
you'll
stop
to
lunch
I'll
prove
you
this time
travelling
up
to
the
hilt,
specimen
and
all.
If
you'll
forgive my
leaving
you
now?"

I
consented,
hardly
comprehending
then
the
full
import
of
his words,
and
he
nodded
and
went
on
down
the
corridor.
I
heard
the door
of
the
laboratory
slam,
seated
myself
in
a
chair,
and
took
up a
daily
paper.
What
was
he
going
to
do
before
lunch-time?
Then
suddenly I was reminded by an advertisement that
I
had promised to meet Richardson, the publisher, at two. I looked at my
watch, and saw that I could barely save that engagement. I got up and went down
the passage to tell the Time Traveller.