"Only when absolutely necessary," Corrigan smiled. "I'm a philosopher by trade, myself, not a mind reader. My name's Philip Corrigan, and I'd be very glad to help you on your way ... but I think it might be a little difficult. We aren't really a very mechanically-minded people here." Lenner ran his hands through his hair. "I've _got_ to get back. Isn't there anybody who knows something about time machines?" Corrigan had been thinking swiftly. He had also been carrying on a conversation which Lenner could not possibly hear, with a man who was several miles away. "_Burwell, he wants to go home._" "_Fine. He ought to. Why doesn't he?_" "_He lost his confidence. He thinks his machine's broken down._" "_That kind, eh? I suppose the thing never really did work very well._" "_Most of them don't. They go traveling around hit-or-miss through probability under the operator's own mental steam--but this fellow probably comes from a world where an idea like that's illegal._" "_Sounds like it. Corrigan, take him on a guided tour or something, and keep him busy. I'll be over as soon as I can. I'm going to do something for his self-confidence. Here's the story to give him...._" * * * * * Corrigan had always enjoyed conducting guided tours, and he was enjoying this one especially well. He had a slightly wicked taste for complicated teasing, and Lenner was a perfect object. He had evidently come from one of the more unpleasant probabilities, a world full of complex rules and harshly restrictive; everything that he saw bothered him. The handsome girls, wearing unstrategically placed flowers and very little else; the flocks of children, as plentiful as pigeons and apparently as free of supervision; the almost total absence of anybody actually performing useful work ... all of it contributed to Lenner's increasing nervousness. The guided tour went in a wide circle, and Lenner and Corrigan wound up sitting in a tavern facing on Main Way. Lenner ignored the green drink before him and peered unhappily out the big window toward his machine. "Where _is_ that friend of yours?" he asked, for the fifth time. "He'll be here," Corrigan assured him. "Why hurry? Don't you like it here?" Lenner's mouth hardened. He looked around him, and shook his head. "No." He spoke almost apologetically, "I'm sorry ... well, look, old fellow, no hard feelings, I hope. But this world of yours is primitive. Degenerate, I'd say." "Primitive?" "No laws--not even morals! Those girls ... and of course, you don't have any civilized advantages. Not even ground transportation. That man you spoke of has to _walk_ here. And that's something else I don't understand. You say he's another time traveler...." "Probability traveler, actually," Corrigan corrected. "All right, probability. Why does he stay here? Why would a really intelligent man give up civilization?"