Then--rich, young, sober, he would seek out a charming, rosy, good-natured girl--something of the type of Phoebe, for instance. They would be married and---- He got up at this and looked at the clock. It was after midnight. He looked at the date indicator. It said October 9, 1890. "Well, come!" he thought. "The old Panchronicon is a steady vessel. She's keepin' right on." He put on his shoes again, for something made him nervous and he wished to walk up and down. The first thing he did after his shoes were donned was to gaze at himself in the mirror. "Don't look any younger," he thought, "but I feel so." He walked across the room once or twice. "Shucks!" he exclaimed. "Couldn't expect to look younger in these old duds, an' at this time o' night, too--tired like I am." For some time he walked up and down, keeping his eyes resolutely from the date indicator. Finally he threw himself down in the chair again and closed his eyes, nervous and exhausted. He did not feel sleepy, but he must have dozed, for the next time he looked at the clock it was half-past one. He put out the light and crossed to a settle. Here he lay at full length courting sleep. When he awoke, he thought, refreshed and alert, he would show his youth unmistakably. But sleep would not return. He tried every position, every trick for propitiating Morpheus. All in vain. At length he rose again and turned on the light. It was two-fifteen. This time he could not resist looking at the date indicator. It said September 30, 1889. Again he looked into the glass. "My, but I'm nervous!" he thought as he turned away, disappointed. "I look older than ever!" As he paced the floor there all alone, he began to doubt for the first time the success of his plan. "It _must_ work right!" he said aloud. "Didn't I go back five weeks with that future man? Didn't he----" A fearful thought struck him. Had he perhaps made a mistake? Had they been cutting meridians the wrong way? But no; the indicator could not be wrong, and that registered a constantly earlier date. "Ah, I know!" he suddenly exclaimed. "I'll ask Cousin Phoebe." He reflected a moment. Yes--the idea was a good one. She would be only fifteen years old by this time, and must certainly have changed to an extent of which he was at his age incapable. Besides, she had been asleep, and nervous insomnia could not be responsible for retarding the evidences of youth in her case. His agony of dread lest this great experiment fail made him bold. He walked directly to Phoebe's door and knocked--first softly, then more loudly. "Cousin Phoebe--Cousin Phoebe," he said. After a few calls and knockings, there came a sleepy reply from within. "Well--what--who is it?" "It's Cousin Copernicus," he said. "Please tell me. Hev ye shrunk any yet?" "What--how?" The tones were very sleepy indeed. "Hev ye shrunk any yet? Are ye growin' littler in there? Oh, please feel fer the footboard with yer toe!"