The first man went back to the stove. Tubby and the second man joined him after a moment. “I ain’t telling you what _I_ think,” the first man remarked. “I’m telling you what _he_ said—” “It ain’t got no sense,” said Tubby. “_I’m_ going to the movies,” said the second man abruptly. “Come on.” “Not me,” said Tubby. “I ate too much. I’m going to sleep.” “It’s ‘The Burning of Rome,’” said the first man. “Nero playing the piano while the city burns. Come on. It’s good—I seen the pictures.” And reluctantly Tubby allowed himself to be led away. The little Moving Picture Theater was hot and stuffy; Tubby found an aisle seat with his friends, near the back. For a quarter of an hour or more he sat blinking at the flickering screen. The Topical Review interested him not at all; he yawned and squeezed his fat little body lower into the hard narrow seat. Then the picture changed. It was not “The Burning of Rome” yet, but a short picture, evidently science. Tubby frowned at it in silence. The first man nudged him. “Wake up,” he said. “Here’s a astronomical picture about the stars. Wake up. It’ll be good. ‘The Burning of Rome’s’ next.” “I ain’t asleep.” Tubby whispered back. “I’m thinking.” The wonders of celestial space were unfolding before Tubby’s eyes. But he hardly saw them. He was thinking of what Jake had said—those tremendous figures Jake had reeled off to him. What was it he had said? One hundred and eighty-six thousand miles in a second. There were sixty seconds in a minute, and sixty minutes in an hour! That would be— “’Taint so,” he muttered to himself doggedly. He felt a light touch on his arm and looked up to see a little man standing beside him in the aisle. In the dim light Tubby could not see the little man very well; but he _could_ see that he did not know him. The little man bent down toward Tubby’s ear. “I want to talk to you,” he whispered. “What about?” said Tubby. The little man shook his head. “I can’t talk in here. Come outside for a moment.” Tubby hesitated. “It’s very important,” the little man added. “You must come—just for a moment. I’ve wanted to see you for a very long time.” Tubby clambered to his feet; his two friends, absorbed in the picture before them, did not notice him leave. In silence he followed the stranger back up the aisle to the lighted theater lobby. “I’ve wanted to see you for a long time,” the little man repeated. Tubby could see now he was a very little man, with a thin, frail body and a very big head set upon a long spindly neck. His hair was snow-white and long about his ears. His yellow face was seamed with lines, but most of it was hidden by flowing side-whiskers and by a pair of huge iron-rimmed spectacles. He wore a long black frock coat that hung from his thin shoulders like a shroud. “I’m a professor,” said the stranger. He held out a shriveled, taloned hand. “A Professor of Light,” he added impressively. “Oh,” said Tubby. “My name is Obadiah Oats.”