"No good end, most likely," said Johnson. "But I don't intend to mess myself up any sooner than I absolutely have to." "I dunno." Danny shook his head again. "You don't talk like the same Art boy I know. Hey, is that you, hiding inside that mess of goody-goody talk, Art baby? Come on out and join the party." "No go, Danny." Johnson shook his head. "If I'm not the same Art boy, it's because I finally woke up." * * * * * "How did it go?" asked Cavendish, as he unclipped the electrodes. "Go?" Johnson shrugged, then stretched and yawned widely. "I guess it went all right. I haven't seen Danny or Flip for forty years. Wonder what ever happened to them?" "Ended up in jail, most likely. But what about the crisis? Did you succeed in avoiding it?" "Crisis?" Johnson peered at him through narrowed lids. "Are you daft, man? What crisis could there possible be in a bunch of kids getting together in a corner sweet shop?" "But...." Cavendish shook his head. "Things did change!" "What changed? Name me one concrete thing that's different than it used to be." "I...." He shook his head. "I can't." "Of course you can't. And for the very simple reason that nothing did change. I'm still the same man I always was. And you'd better start coming up with some concrete benefits from this gadget of yours. You know I put myself into hock to raise the money you needed--I told my wife I was adding another franchise to my line. If she finds out her jewels were hocked for me to play around with a time machine, instead of a new line of cars, she'll flip. So how about it, Cavendish? Some concrete results next time." Cavendish went to the bar and returned with a generous slug of whisky. "What's this?" said Johnson. "Why, your drink." "Drink?" He snorted. "You know I don't drink, man. Have you gone completely daft? I haven't touched alcohol since I was a youngster." Cavendish seemed near tears. He drank the whisky himself, then turned back to the machine. "What are you up to now?" "I'm looking for a suitable crisis point." The screen wavered, then filled with a group of men in uniform--heavy winter garb. They were clustered around a small fire in a cave; one seemed to be heating coffee in a tin can. Johnson sucked in his breath. "You know what is going to happen?" "Yes, dammit! You're a devil!" "Perhaps." He sighed. "I sometimes wonder.... But no matter." He adjusted the picture, and events flowed forward a few hours. The soldiers were now at the base of a snow-covered hill. Above them, gaunt and bare, the timber-line beckoned with obscenely stretching limbs.