But four months later, he stood with his hand on a switch, sweating with nervous excitement as he eyed the spot from which a live rabbit had just disappeared. The rabbit was on the table, but he was there an hour ago and Edgar was here now, so the table appeared empty. He pressed another switch and there was the bunny, wriggling its soft nose in perplexity, but perfectly healthy. Edgar's own trip, of course, would be strictly one way since the machine stayed in the present. He could be brought back only if he stepped into its field on a date for which the machine was set and he had absolutely no intention of venturing near this vicinity again, once his aim was accomplished. He thought about arranging a small explosive charge to blow the equipment to what he thought of as The Hot Place. It seemed to him, however, that there was some kind of law against that sort of thing. Besides, even if the machine should come to the attention of the authorities, who would know what it was? He could devise a mechanical scrambler to change all the control settings once he was gone, and it was unlikely that anyone could operate it again. Most likely the landlady would simply sell it for junk, especially if he left owing her a week's rent. The idea hurt his conscience. "I know!" he exclaimed to himself. "I'll buy a bank check and arrange to have the bank mail it to her a month after I've left!" He felt much better about that. * * * * * Three weeks later, Edgar Evans was the newest boarder at Mrs. Peterson's, on Elm Avenue in Greencastle, Indiana. He had arrived on April 3, 1893, the day after Easter, and already he was being referred to as "that nice young man staying at Emma's." Edgar snuggled into the life of the '90s like a showgirl into mink. He went to work as a clerk in Cloud's Emporium and was soon regarded as logical choice for the next manager. Anxious mamas filled his evenings with dinner invitations and "at homes" and he had a dazzling choice of partners for the numerous socials. Edgar waltzed his partners with zest and propriety, contributed a determined tenor at parlor sings, and sampled dozens of cakes and pies baked by maidens bent on winning his heart via the traditional route. And always he had a gracious compliment, an appropriate phrase for every situation. Within a month, the entire feminine population of Greencastle was his for the asking, though he'd never have recognized nor admitted the fact. The men sought his company, too, and even asked his advice on how to win their girls back from him. Edgar, almost sick with happiness, told them, of course. On the eleventh of November, he was sick with something else. He went to bed with a fever right after getting home from the Emporium, Mrs. Peterson hovering helplessly with offers of hot broth or tea. But Edgar felt hot and dry and his side hurt when he breathed. "I don't want anything ... thank you," he gasped politely.