With his hands jammed in his pockets, he frowned at the complex machinery. Miller stared a few moments; then transferred his interests to other things in the room. He was immediately struck by the resemblance of a transformer in a far corner to the ones linked up with the impulsor. "What's that?" he asked quickly. "Looks the same as the ones you used over there." "It is." "But-- Didn't you say all you needed was another stage of power?" "That's right." "Maybe I'm crazy!" Miller stared from impulsor to transformer and back again. "Why don't you use it, then?" "Using what for the connection?" Erickson's eyes gently mocked him. "Wire, of course!" The scientist jerked a thumb at a small bale of heavy copper wire. "Bring it over and we'll try it." Miller was halfway to it when he brought up short. Then a sheepish grin spread over his features. "I get it," he chuckled. "That bale of wire might be the Empire State Building, as far as we're concerned. Forgive my stupidity." Erickson suddenly became serious. "I'd like to be optimistic, Dave," he muttered, "but in all fairness to you I must tell you I see no way out of this. The machine is, of course, still working, and with that extra stage of power, the uncertainty would be over. But where, in this world of immovable things, will we find a piece of wire twenty-five feet long?" * * * * * There was a warm, moist sensation against Miller's hand, and when he looked down Major stared up at him commiseratingly. Miller scratched him behind the ear, and the dog closed his eyes, reassured and happy. The young druggist sighed, wishing there were some giant hand to scratch him behind the ear and smooth _his_ troubles over. "And if we don't get out," he said soberly, "we'll starve, I suppose." "No, I don't think it will be that quick. I haven't felt any hunger. I don't expect to. After all, our bodies are still living in one instant of time, and a man can't work up a healthy appetite in one second. Of course, this elastic-second business precludes the possibility of disease. "Our bodies must go on unchanged. The only hope I see is--when we are on the verge of madness, suicide. That means jumping off a bridge, I suppose. Poison, guns, knives--all the usual wherewithal--are denied to us." Black despair closed down on Dave Miller. He thrust it back, forcing a crooked grin. "Let's make a bargain," he offered. "When we finish fooling around with this apparatus, we split up. We'll only be at each other's throat if we stick together. I'll be blaming you for my plight, and I don't want to. It's my fault as much as yours. How about it?" John Erickson gripped his hand. "You're all right, Dave. Let me give you some advice. If ever you do get back to the present ... keep away from liquor. Liquor and the Irish never did mix. You'll have that store on its feet again in no time."