Cavendish suddenly felt pity for the aged man and switched off the picture. Without asking, he refilled Johnson's glass. "No one ever knew about that," said Johnson, softly. "Your family did a good job of hushing it up," agreed Cavendish. "We served our time, though--nine months in that stinking county jail, after time off for good behavior." He shuddered. Across two-thirds of a lifetime, the memory was still painful. "It kept you out of the service, didn't it?" "Yes. My folks always claimed I spent the time bumming around the country. They said ill health kept me out of the Army. People never believed them, though. They seemed to know better." "Definitely a crisis in your life?" "Most definitely," agreed Johnson. "Then if I send you back to the time when you and your companions were planning this adventure, and you succeed in talking your younger self out of it, you'll be convinced that what I say is true?" "Yes, that'll do it." "Good! Events can be altered; time is not immutable!" The little man's eyes gleamed fanatically; Johnson for the first time debated the wisdom of letting himself be strapped in under his care. But Cavendish was already adjusting the electrodes; he finished, and turned on the power source. "I'll send you back to that afternoon," he said. "The three of you are gathered in the back room of Cook's News Shop." "I remember," said Johnson. * * * * * "Hi, Danny." "Hi," said the leader of the three, looking up. "What do you want, Janie?" "Oh, nothing," said the girl, tossing her pony tail back over her shoulder. "But I'll settle for a coke." "Be my guest," said Danny Grissome, digging a dime from his pocket. "But be a doll and drink it at the counter, hey?" "What's the matter? My company not good enough for the big shots?" She sniffed, but accepted the dime. "Your company's fine," said Grissome. "But we're busy----man-type busy. So later, hey? Later." The boys watched her flounce sensuously through the archway separating the back room from the front section of the store, and knew as they watched that she was fully aware of their eyes on her. Danny's tongue darted over his lips; he sighed. "Man, I gotta get me some more of that. But not now. We got things to talk about now. Important things, right, Art?" Johnson tore his eyes from the girl. "Uh, yeah, Danny. Sure. Anything you say." "That's right. Anything I say. And don't you creeps ever forget it." "So who's arguing?" "Nobody, Flip--not yet. But I got me a feeling all of us in our little group aren't happy. Right, Art?" "I didn't say that," protested Johnson. "That's what it sounded like to me." "So excuse me for living." He shrugged. "All I said was that I don't go for that kind of jazz. It spells trouble, big trouble. C--O--P trouble."