On the way home, I tried to talk Joe into tearing the machines down. "How do you know where it's going to end, Joe?" I argues. "You can't tell who's well-adjusted and who isn't any more. And besides, some of those who ain't have contributed just as much to life as those who are. Maybe even more." "I'm going to leave them up," Joe says grimly. "The world will be better off without a lot of neurotics running around." "You won't think it over, Joe?" "No," he says, "and to prove it, I'm going to spend the next two weeks in New York looking for backing to put up _Paradise_ booths all across the country." "What does Marge think?" I ask. "Hang Marge!" he says. Well, I just stood there in the middle of the block and watched him get smaller and smaller in the distance. I couldn't think of anything more to say and he wouldn't have listened to me anyways. I packed and left town that same night. The strawberry season was just coming on and I ain't never missed a harvest yet. * * * * * About two weeks passed and I couldn't stay away any longer. I got back to town, took a look around, and then went down to the station to wait for Joe to come in on the flyer. I figured somebody ought to be there to break it to him gently. He gets off the train looking happy and successful and I figure he's made arrangements to put a _Paradise_ booth in every city, town, and crossroads in the nation. "Why, hello, Harry," he says when he sees me, and gives me the old professional smile and handshake that really ain't the old Joe at all. "Any cabs around?" "No, there ain't no cabs around." Something in the way I says it makes him give me a sharp look. "How come? There's always a couple to meet the flyer." "There ain't none this time," I says. "No cab drivers." "No cab drivers?" "Ain't no need for 'em any more," I says. "Ain't no people in town to use cabs. Town's empty. Everybody's gone." He looks kinda green and says: "What do you mean, everybody's gone?" I shrugs and starts walking back to town. "Everybody took off," I says. "Your _Paradise_ booths were real popular." He still looks blank so I give it to him straight. I had first thought about it when Wally Claus disappeared. It occurs to me then that everybody has times when they wish they could crawl out from under and quietly disappear. You see, Joe had assumed that some people were adjusted to society and some weren't. Well, actually _nobody_ is, it's just a difference of degree. Once Wally took off, it sorta burst the dam. More and more people sneaked into the booths, dropped in a quarter, and _whisht_--they were a billion miles away. It was lonely and dark in town. No street lamps, of course. There was nobody down at the power plant to work the switches. And there weren't any lights in the houses 'cause there wasn't anybody around. "I can't imagine _everybody_ going," Joe says, biting his lip. "What about all the kids?"