Then the city became little more than a rolling pattern of line and color to him, and the thoughts began coming quickly, intensely. An excuse for the difference in his voice--did people here have colds? The uniform--suppose something were wrong ... and his own mannerisms--how closely would he resemble, under the close scrutiny of the few there must be who knew him well, the man whom he'd replaced--the other Douglas Blair, who must at this instant be facing the same problem in a world as alien to him as this was to Congressman Douglas Blair? The woman on the phone had said "Your offices"--his meeting, then, and they'd ask questions. He'd been a fool. He'd never carry it off in a million years! They were smart--even a half-intelligent person of his own world could spot the eternal phony trying to bluff for what just wasn't there, even in the guy who'd learned how from the right books. Hell, he'd be as transparent as manners at a pink tea. * * * * * He wondered about the other Douglas Blair, and how the trap felt that had snapped on him. About the kids--what about his kids? Terry was a smart boy and he'd know the Contraption had been responsible for what had happened. Would he try to get hold of Carl or somebody? If a bunch of technicians or even scientists got to the Contraption, touched anything.... There would be no knowing about that until they tried to get back. Either the reference frame would be the same or, if someone had tampered, it would be completely altered, and Dot and himself would go from one time thread to the next, _ad infinitum_, with finding their own again as probable as finding a specific grain of sand in the Sahara. The other Douglas Blair. And of course, his wife. He knew what they looked like--she would have Dot's slenderness, her face, eyes, hair.... No one would know. And the man would look like himself. Suppose even the kids didn't know? Doug wondered if they'd fool the kids.... And then--then what? No one would know, but that was a joke. They wouldn't believe it if his alter-ego got to a microphone and broadcast it. People only believed in gossip, in rumor, in the miracles of wishful thinking. They never believed in facts. They accepted them, but they were not convinced. Newspapers would publish accounts of dolls that wept, but carefully steered clear of the scientific phenomenon if it were not between governmental quotation marks. It was true of course--mystery, properly interpreted, could not hurt. A fact defied interpretation; in the final analysis, it must be taken or left. And when it was a fact strange to the beliefs of men, it was left for as long a period as curiosity would permit. And then, of course, misunderstood. He wondered how the other Douglas Blair would manage, and what, upon realizing that his was the superior intelligence and knowledge, he would do with it....