"Anyhow, whut this here machine does is run down a pathway through the Time dimension jest like an auto runs on a road or an elevator runs up an' down or an airyplane flies 'round in circles. See?" "No!" I said. "Well, it's as simple as A-B-C, Jim. I just made a helical vortex with these here wires as the motivating cores, and slung the machine in it like a basket. Right now while I test it, I got it operatin' on A.C. house current, but when I push this little doogummy--" He pressed a small switch. "I shift it to self-generatin' D.C. These other levers control the distance in Time it travels, and there's space-location finders, too. "Only thing I ain't figgered out yet is--" "Yet!" I gasped. "Yet! You've done all this within four days. Solved a problem that has eluded men of genius for centuries, and you're worried about one minor detail!" "Well, it ain't whut you might call minor, Jim--" "Hank, you never had a day's mechanical training in your life. I know that. So tell me--how on earth could you know how to make this machine?" Cleaver blushed. "Why, it just come sort o' natcheral, Jim. 'Peared to me as if they was oney one way to make it, so--O golly!" A stricken look swept suddenly over his face, and I spun to discover the reason. The Reason was five-foot-two of loveliness standing in the doorway of our apartment. Breath-taking but outraged loveliness, answering to the name of Miss Helen MacDowell. Her dark eyes were like thunder-clouds, and her foot tapped the carpet angrily. "Well!" she said. "Well, at last I find you!" * * * * * It was I who had to hold Hank Cleaver now. He was trying desperately to wriggle out of my grasp. I believe he had some idea of trying to crawl under the carpet. Finally he surrendered, turned to face his fiancée. "H-hullo, honey!" he said. "Don't 'honey' me!" snapped Helen. "What were you two talking about just now?" Hank had temporarily suffered a paralysis of the vocal cords. I went to bat for him. "Dimensions," I said. "Hank was explaining to me how the Time dimension operates." Helen sniffed. "Time, indeed! Perhaps he needs an explanation of Time himself. I suppose you completely forgot you had a date with me an hour and a half ago, Hank Cleaver?" Hank strangled. I said apologetically, "Now, Helen--don't be angry. I guess he forgot dimension it." "That," scorned the girl, "is just the sort of poor joke I should expect from you, Jim. Well, I'm going to marry him and get him away from your bad influence soon--" Before I could think up a good comeback to that one, she shouldered past me into Hank's bedroom-laboratory, eyed with disdain the wavering, nebulous whatchamaycallit standing there. "What do you call _this_?" she demanded. "It--it's a time-machine, honey," said Hank meekly. "Hmmm! Funniest looking clock _I_ ever saw!"