Johnson massaged his crippled hand as he watched the tortured boy make a break away from his tormentors. A foot shot out, and the boy went sprawling. His chin hit the pavement; only the adult saw the biggest of the tormentors bring booted foot down on pathetic fingers. The foot twisted, and the man looked away. "Shut it off!" he shouted. "Certainly." Cavendish reached out and the screen went dead. Getting up, he went to the bar in the corner of the room and returned with a tumbler half-full of amber liquid. "Here, you need this." Johnson tossed off the drink, gasping as the liquor burned its way down to his stomach. "Ahhhh!" He wiped his mouth on the back of his good hand. "What do you think of my little machine, Mr. Johnson?" Cavendish settled himself behind a cluttered desk, hands folded over his paunch, looking extremely satisfied with himself. Pointed mustache and faintly slanted eyes heightened the effect of a cat with a stolen canary. "Your gadget is effective," admitted Johnson. "Just how powerful is it?" "Fifty years seems the limit it can probe. I've tried increasing the power, but beyond fifty years things quickly fade away into a gray fog. That's why I wanted to see you so urgently. Another few weeks, and this particular event in your life will be irrevocably lost." He glanced at the crippled hand. "Considering the direct consequences, I thought it would be a good place to start." "Assuming that I want to have anything to do with this at all." "Of course," said Cavendish, blandly. "Everything is always an assumption." "Your machine. It can actually send me back through time?" "In effect, yes." "I don't believe it." "I think you do, Mr. Johnson. You want to believe it, therefore you do believe it. A man like yourself, aware of missed opportunities...." "I haven't missed many chances in my day," said Johnson. "If I had, I'd never have become what I am today." "Rich." "I'd rather call it powerful." "As you like." Cavendish shrugged. "After all, what is money but power? With it, you have the power to do things, make a living, run a business, increase your standing in the community. Without it.... Everything becomes negative. You have the power to die, but nothing more." "You need money, too." "Of course. I've never denied it. Science has never been a particularly profitable field of endeavor--at least, not on my level. For you, science has made money. For me, it merely uses it." "You want money from me." "Naturally. You have enough for both of us." * * * * * "But why me?" asked Johnson, suspiciously. "Why not someone else? There are other men as wealthy or wealthier than I--Reading, Blackwell, Morgenstern, just to name three in this very city." "Yes, I considered them--all of them, and many others besides. It really made no difference which one I finally selected. I chose you, Mr. Johnson, for just one reason--the scene just witnessed."