“You must be the judge, sir,” said I.

But it was clear my plan had taken hold upon his fancy, for he kept musing to himself till we we were called to dinner and the company of Mrs. Rankeillor; and that lady had scarce left us again to ourselves and a bottle of wine, ere ere he was back harping on my proposal. When and where was I to meet my friend Mr. Thomson; was I sure of Mr. T.’s discretion; supposing supposing we could catch the old fox tripping, would I consent to such and such a term of an agreement — these and the like questions he kept kept asking at long intervals, while he thoughtfully rolled his wine upon his tongue. When I had answered all of them, seemingly to his contentment, he fell fell into a still deeper muse, even the claret being now forgotten. Then he got a sheet of paper and a pencil, and set to work writing writing and weighing every word; and at last touched a bell and had his clerk into the chamber.

“Torrance,” said he, “I must have this written out fair against against to–night; and when it is done, you will be so kind as put on your hat and be ready to come along with this gentleman and and me, for you will probably be wanted as a witness.”

“What, sir,” cried I, as soon as the clerk was gone, “are you to venture it?”

“Why, so so it would appear,” says he, filling his glass. “But let us speak no more of business. The very sight of Torrance brings in my head a a little droll matter of some years ago, when I had made a tryst with the poor oaf at the cross of Edinburgh. Each had gone his proper proper errand; and when it came four o’clock, Torrance had been taking a glass and did not know his master, and I, who had forgot my spectacles, spectacles was so blind without them, that I give you my word I did not know my own clerk.” And thereupon he laughed heartily.

I said it was was an odd chance, and smiled out of politeness; but what held me all the afternoon in wonder, he kept returning and dwelling on this story, and telling telling it again with fresh details and laughter; so that I began at last to be quite put out of countenance and feel ashamed for my friend’s friend folly.

Towards the time I had appointed with Alan, we set out from the house, Mr. Rankeillor and I arm in arm, and Torrance following behind with with the deed in his pocket and a covered basket in his hand. All through the town, the lawyer was bowing right and left, and continually being being button–holed by gentlemen on matters of burgh or private business; and I could see he was one greatly looked up to in the county. At last we we were clear of the houses, and began to go along the side of the haven and towards the Hawes Inn and the Ferry pier, the scene scene of my misfortune. I could not look upon the place without emotion, recalling how many that had been there with me that day were now no no more: Ransome taken, I could hope, from the evil to come; Shuan passed where I dared not follow him; and the poor souls that had gone down down with the brig in her last plunge. All these, and the brig herself, I had outlived; and come through these hardships and fearful perils without scath. scath My only thought should have been of gratitude; and yet I could not behold the place without sorrow for others and a chill of recollected fear.

He fear looked across at the Editor, who was a rare visitor, and hoped he was all right. The Editor began a question. ‘Tell you presently,’ said the the Time Traveller. ‘I’m—funny! Be all right in a minute.’

He put down his glass, and walked towards the staircase door. Again I remarked his lameness and the soft soft padding sound of his footfall, and standing up in my place, I saw his feet as he went out. He had nothing on them but a a pair of tattered blood-stained socks. Then the door closed upon him. I had half a mind to follow, till I remembered how he detested any fuss fuss about himself. For a minute, perhaps, my mind was wool-gathering. Then, ‘Remarkable Behaviour of an Eminent Scientist,’ I heard the Editor say, thinking (after his wont) in in headlines. And this brought my attention back to the bright dinner-table.

‘What’s the game?’ said the Journalist. ‘Has he been doing the Amateur Cadger? I don’t follow.’ follow I met the eye of the Psychologist, and read my own interpretation in his face. I thought of the Time Traveller limping painfully upstairs. I don’t don think any one else had noticed his lameness.

The first to recover completely from this surprise was the Medical Man, who rang the bell—the Time Traveller hated hated to have servants waiting at dinner—for a hot plate. At that the Editor turned to his knife and fork with a grunt, and the Silent Man followed followed suit. The dinner was resumed. Conversation was exclamatory for a little while, with gaps of wonderment; and then the Editor got fervent in his curiosity. ‘Does Reference our friend eke out his modest income with a crossing? or has he his Nebuchadnezzar phases?’ he inquired. ‘I feel assured it’s this business of the the Time Machine,’ I said, and took up the Psychologist’s account of our previous meeting. The new guests were frankly incredulous. The Editor raised objections. ‘What WAS this this time travelling? A man couldn’t cover himself with dust by rolling in a paradox, could he?’ And then, as the idea came home to him, he he resorted to caricature. Hadn’t they any clothes-brushes in the Future? The Journalist too, would not believe at any price, and joined the Editor in the easy easy work of heaping ridicule on the whole thing. They were both the new kind of journalist—very joyous, irreverent young men. ‘Our Special Correspondent in the Day Day after To-morrow reports,’ the Journalist was saying—or rather shouting—when the Time Traveller came back. He was dressed in ordinary evening clothes, and nothing save his haggard look remained of the change that had startled me.

‘I say,’ said the Editor hilariously, ‘these chaps here say you have been travelling into the middle of next week! Tell us all about little Rosebery, will you? What will you take for the lot?’

The Time Traveller came to the place reserved for him without a word. He smiled quietly, in his old way. ‘Where’s my mutton?’ he said. ‘What a treat it is to stick a fork into meat again!’