Johnson considered. "Nostalgic, I suppose. Everyone would like another chance to revisit his childhood. You've proven that your time ma--Pardon me. Your temporal transgressor, works. But as to your idea that events can be changed--well, consider me from Missouri." "But the machine does work," insisted Cavendish. "I've already said that," said Johnson, irritated with the little man. Cavendish seemed much more pushy than he had at their first meeting. Johnson had never cared for that type of person, perhaps recognizing too much of himself reflected in the other personality. "The next part should be simple, then," said Cavendish. "All we have to do is find a suitable crisis point in your life, and send you back. Once you have changed it--made a different decision--then you'll see." "Perhaps," said Johnson, a strong doubt in the back of his mind. "Have you picked out such a suitable crisis?" "I think so." He turned to the screen, and began adjusting the dials. Gray fog swirled mistily across the face of the tube, resolving momentarily into brief scenes as the scientist searched for something in particular. At last he grunted in satisfaction, and straightened up. "Here we are." He sharpened the focus, and it became Johnson's turn to grunt in surprise. "Damn you!" * * * * * The scene was dimly-lit, obviously happening late at night. Two youths in their late teens were busy at the rear door of a service station, while another kept peering around the corner, keeping an anxious eye out for passers-by. At last the lock of the door gave way to their efforts, and all three slipped inside. Cavendish turned a dial and the picture followed the actors into the interior of the station. One of the figures produced a pencil flash; by its thin beam, they made their way past a store-room piled high with cases of motor oil and transmission fluid and into the garage part of the station. One of the figures stopped by a stack of tires and a heated argument broke out, soundless though it seemed to the watchers in the future. At last, one prevailed over the other and they continued their search of the station, stopping at last by the register. One of the boys punched it open, and scooped up a small handful of bills, only to have disgust register on his face when they turned out to be all singles. In the meantime, one of the other boys was forcing the coin box on the cigarette machine. He scooped silver into his pockets, then turned to the soft drink machine at its side. Sudden light glared into the station, blinding the boys. They stopped dead in their tracks, as they tried to shield their eyes from the glare. Then, panic-stricken, they broke for the rear and the door they had forced to gain entrance. The figures were lost for a moment, but soon reappeared, shepherded none too gently by several men in blue. The station's own lights came on.