"--I'd like to sell you on the idea of coming back--" "_Nobody's_ enough of a salesman for that." "--but maybe it'll all turn out for the best!" "You're darn right. I'll never look at another sewing machine the rest of my life." * * * * * Bill paled when Molly packed her featherweight sewing machine with their belongings. "Aw, honey!" he expostulated, cradling her beautiful blonde fluffy head with one arm while his other gripped the yelping bundle of activity that was his wire-haired fox-terrier, Is. "We won't need a sewing machine where we're going. Somewhere in the next ten thousand years we'll find a civilization where nobody does any work, where the whole world is one great big lawn--" "You're always so certain of yourself, Bill," said she, cocking a pert blue adoring eye up at him. "And you're so certain of that time-machine." "Why not? Unk and I took a trip in it before he died. It works." Was, the other fox-terrier, came rocketing red-tongued into the room, stayed a moment, and plummeted madly out the open door. "Oh, don't think for a minute that I don't think you know what you're doing," said Molly. "It's just that I can't imagine why Unk was so nice to you after those things you said--calling him a fussy old man who couldn't even invent a good excuse to die--" Bill interrupted hastily. "That was just one of our friendly arguments," he protested. "Nope, Unk loved me like a son. Dope that I am, now I can see it." His eyes watered. "I'm sorry he's dead--almost. Anyway, the sewing machine is out. Where is Was?" "He was here. He isn't. Is is. I wish you'd put her down, Bill. She's clawing me. That'll give you two arms for me." Bill hurriedly released Molly, holding the tongue-lolling dog against his chest. Is licked his nose affectionately. Bill grinned. "What a fox," he exulted. "'A good lean head and a quick dark eye,' as the poem goes." "Well," Molly said, "I only hope it doesn't get cold where we're going. I was thinking of making some special little jackets for Is and Was, but--" "Just a minute," said Bill, giving her a quick, severe little kiss. "Who said we weren't going to take the machine? But keep it out of my sight!" Their possessions being meager, their bank account non-existent, the Bennetts were able to load everything into a jallopy rocket-car that took the curves at a meager seventy per hour. When they arrived at the sagging Connecticut farm where Unk had puttered around with mostly useless inventions the last few years of his life, they immediately saw the reclining hulk of the spaceship in the yard. It looked like a brown cigar with the end bitten raggedly off. "Neat, huh?" said Bill. "The time-machine is hooked in with the spaceship controls. We can move in space as well as time."