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diff --git a/27053-h/27053-h.htm b/27053-h/27053-h.htm new file mode 100644 index 0000000..b55bf58 --- /dev/null +++ b/27053-h/27053-h.htm @@ -0,0 +1,1842 @@ +<!DOCTYPE html PUBLIC "-//W3C//DTD XHTML 1.0 Strict//EN" + "http://www.w3.org/TR/xhtml1/DTD/xhtml1-strict.dtd"> + +<html xmlns="http://www.w3.org/1999/xhtml" xml:lang="en" lang="en"> + <head> + <meta http-equiv="Content-Type" content="text/html;charset=iso-8859-1" /> + <meta http-equiv="Content-Style-Type" content="text/css" /> + <title> + The Project Gutenberg eBook of The Day Time Stopped Moving, by Bradner Buckner + </title> + <style type="text/css"> +/*<![CDATA[ XML blockout */ +<!-- + p {margin-top: .75em; text-align: justify; margin-bottom: .75em;} + h1,h2,h3 {clear: both; font-weight: normal;} + h1 {margin-top: 0;} + body > h3 {line-height: 2em;} + hr {width: 45%; margin: 1em auto; clear: both; visibility: hidden;} + .chp {width: 65%; margin: 2em auto;} + body {margin-left: 10%; margin-right: 10%;} + .blockquot {margin: 1em 10%;} + .center,h3 {text-align: center;} + .smcap {font-variant: small-caps;} + .footnotes {border: dashed 1px; margin-top: 2em;} + .footnote {margin-left: 10%; margin-right: 10%; font-size: 0.9em;} + .footnote .label {position: absolute; right: 84%; text-align: right;} + .fnanchor {vertical-align: 0.25em; font-size: .8em;} + .trn {border: solid 1px; margin: 3em 15%; padding: 1em; text-align: justify;} + img {border: none;} + a:link,a:visited {text-decoration: none;} + p.cap:first-letter {float: left; margin-right: .05em; padding-top: .05em; font-size: 300%; line-height: .8em;} + .dcap {text-transform: uppercase;} + .bk1 {background: url("images/001.png") top left no-repeat; width: 600px; height: 427px; margin: 0 auto; overflow: hidden;} + .bk2 {width: 295px; height: 255px;} + .bk2 h1,h2 {text-align: left; color: #000000; background-color: #FFFFFF;} + .bk3 {margin: 2em auto; width: 25em; text-align: justify;} + .p1 {margin-top: 2em;} +// --> +/* XML end ]]>*/ + </style> + </head> +<body> + + +<pre> + +Project Gutenberg's The Day Time Stopped Moving, by Bradner Buckner + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: The Day Time Stopped Moving + +Author: Bradner Buckner + +Illustrator: Thomas Beecham + +Release Date: October 26, 2008 [EBook #27053] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE DAY TIME STOPPED MOVING *** + + + + +Produced by Greg Weeks, Stephen Blundell and the Online +Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net + + + + + + +</pre> + + +<div class="bk1"><div class="bk2"><h1>THE DAY<br /> +TIME<br /> +STOPPED<br /> +MOVING</h1> + +<h2><small>By BRADNER BUCKNER</small></h2></div></div> + +<div class="center"><b><small>Dave Miller pushed with all his strength, but the girl was as unmovable as Gibraltar.</small></b></div> + +<div class="bk3"><i>All Dave Miller wanted to do +was commit suicide in peace. +He tried, but the things that +happened after he'd pulled +the trigger were all wrong. +Like everyone standing around +like statues. No St. Peter, no +pearly gate, no pitchforks +or halos. He might just as +well have saved the bullet!</i></div> + +<p class="cap"><span class="dcap">Dave Miller</span> would never +have done it, had he been +in his right mind. The Millers +were not a melancholy stock, +hardly the sort of people you +expect to read about in the morning +paper who have taken their +lives the night before. But Dave +Miller was drunk—abominably, +roaringly so—and the barrel of +the big revolver, as he stood +against the sink, made a ring of +coldness against his right temple.</p> + +<p>Dawn was beginning to stain +the frosty kitchen windows. In +the faint light, the letter lay a +gray square against the drain-board +tiles. With the melodramatic +gesture of the very drunk, +Miller had scrawled across the +envelope:</p> + +<p>"This is why I did it!"</p> + +<p>He had found Helen's letter +in the envelope when he staggered +into their bedroom fifteen +minutes ago—at a quarter after +five. As had frequently happened +during the past year, he'd come +home from the store a little late +... about twelve hours late, in +fact. And this time Helen had +done what she had long threatened +to do. She had left him.</p> + +<p>The letter was brief, containing +a world of heartbreak and +broken hopes.</p> + +<p>"I don't mind having to +scrimp, Dave. No woman minds +that if she feels she is really +helping her husband over a +rough spot. When business went +bad a year ago, I told you I was +ready to help in any way I could. +But you haven't let me. You quit +fighting when things got difficult, +and put in all your money and +energy on liquor and horses and +cards. I could stand being married +to a drunkard, Dave, but +not to a coward ..."</p> + +<p>So she was trying to show +him. But Miller told himself he'd +show her instead. Coward, eh? +Maybe this would teach her a +lesson! Hell of a lot of help she'd +been! Nag at him every time +he took a drink. Holler bloody +murder when he put twenty-five +bucks on a horse, with a +chance to make five hundred. +What man wouldn't do those +things?</p> + +<p>His drug store was on the +skids. Could he be blamed for +drinking a little too much, if +alcohol dissolved the morbid +vapors of his mind?</p> + +<p>Miller stiffened angrily, and +tightened his finger on the trigger. +But he had one moment of +frank insight just before the +hammer dropped and brought +the world tumbling about his +ears. It brought with it a realization +that the whole thing was his +fault. Helen was right—he was +a coward. There was a poignant +ache in his heart. She'd been as +loyal as they came, he knew +that.</p> + +<p>He could have spent his nights +thinking up new business tricks, +instead of swilling whiskey. +Could have gone out of his way +to be pleasant to customers, not +snap at them when he had a terrific +hangover. And even Miller +knew nobody ever made any money +on the horses—at least, not +when he needed it. But horses +and whiskey and business had +become tragically confused in his +mind; so here he was, full of +liquor and madness, with a gun +to his head.</p> + +<p>Then again anger swept his +mind clean of reason, and he +threw his chin up and gripped +the gun tight.</p> + +<p>"Run out on me, will she!" he +muttered thickly. "Well—this'll +show her!"</p> + +<p>In the next moment the hammer +fell ... and Dave Miller had +"shown her."</p> + +<p>Miller opened his eyes with a +start. As plain as black on white, +he'd heard a bell ring—the most +familiar sound in the world, too. +It was the unmistakable tinkle +of his cash register.</p> + +<p>"Now, how in hell—" The +thought began in his mind; and +then he saw where he was.</p> + +<p>The cash register was right in +front of him! It was open, and +on the marble slab lay a customer's +five-spot. Miller's glance +strayed up and around him.</p> + +<p>He was behind the drug counter, +all right. There were a man +and a girl sipping cokes at the +fountain, to his right; the magazine +racks by the open door; the +tobacco counter across from the +fountain. And right before him +was a customer.</p> + +<p>Good Lord! he thought. Was +all this a—a dream?</p> + +<p>Sweat oozed out on his clammy +forehead. That stuff of Herman's +that he had drunk during +the game—it had had a rank +taste, but he wouldn't have +thought anything short of marihuana +could produce such hallucinations +as he had just had. +Wild conjectures came boiling up +from the bottom of Miller's being.</p> + +<p>How did he get behind the +counter? Who was the woman +he was waiting on? What—</p> + +<p>The woman's curious stare +was what jarred him completely +into the present. Get rid of her! +was his one thought. Then sit +down behind the scenes and try +to figure it all out.</p> + +<p>His hand poised over the cash +drawer. Then he remembered he +didn't know how much he was +to take out of the five. Avoiding +the woman's glance, he muttered:</p> + +<p>"Let's see, now, that was—uh—how +much did I say?"</p> + +<p>The woman made no answer. +Miller cleared his throat, said +uncertainly:</p> + +<p>"I beg your pardon, ma'am—did +I say—seventy-five cents?"</p> + +<p>It was just a feeler, but the +woman didn't even answer to +that. And it was right then that +Dave Miller noticed the deep +silence that brooded in the store.</p> + +<p>Slowly his head came up and +he looked straight into the woman's +eyes. She returned him a +cool, half-smiling glance. But her +eyes neither blinked nor moved. +Her features were frozen. Lips +parted, teeth showing a little, +the tip of her tongue was between +her even white teeth as though +she had started to say "this" +and stopped with the syllable unspoken.</p> + +<p>Muscles began to rise behind +Miller's ears. He could feel his +hair stiffen like filings drawn to +a magnet. His glance struggled +to the soda fountain. What he +saw there shook him to the core +of his being.</p> + +<p>The girl who was drinking a +coke had the glass to her lips, but +apparently she wasn't sipping +the liquid. Her boy friend's glass +was on the counter. He had +drawn on a cigarette and exhaled +the gray smoke. That smoke +hung in the air like a large, +elongated balloon with the small +end disappearing between his +lips. While Miller stared, the +smoke did not stir in the slightest.</p> + +<p>There was something unholy, +something supernatural, about +this scene!</p> + +<p>With apprehension rippling +down his spine, Dave Miller +reached across the cash register +and touched the woman on the +cheek. The flesh was warm, but +as hard as flint. Tentatively, the +young druggist pushed harder; +finally, shoved with all his might. +For all the result, the woman +might have been a two-ton +bronze statue. She neither budged +nor changed expression.</p> + +<p>Panic seized Miller. His voice +hit a high hysterical tenor as he +called to his soda-jerker.</p> + +<p>"Pete! <i>Pete!</i>" he shouted. +"What in God's name is wrong +here!"</p> + +<p>The blond youngster, with a +towel wadded in a glass, did not +stir. Miller rushed from the back +of the store, seized the boy by +the shoulders, tried to shake him. +But Pete was rooted to the spot.</p> + +<p>Miller knew, now, that what +was wrong was something greater +than a hallucination or a +hangover. He was in some kind +of trap. His first thought was to +rush home and see if Helen was +there. There was a great sense +of relief when he thought of her. +Helen, with her grave blue eyes +and understanding manner, +would listen to him and know +what was the matter.</p> + +<hr /> + +<p>He left the haunted drug +store at a run, darted around the +corner and up the street to his +car. But, though he had not +locked the car, the door resisted +his twisting grasp. Shaking, +pounding, swearing, Miller +wrestled with each of the doors.</p> + +<p>Abruptly he stiffened, as a +horrible thought leaped into his +being. His gaze left the car and +wandered up the street. Past the +intersection, past the one beyond +that, on up the thoroughfare until +the gray haze of the city dimmed +everything. And as far as +Dave Miller could see, there was +no trace of motion.</p> + +<p>Cars were poised in the street, +some passing other machines, +some turning corners. A street +car stood at a safety zone; a man +who had leaped from the bottom +step hung in space a foot above +the pavement. Pedestrians +paused with one foot up. A bird +hovered above a telephone pole, +its wings glued to the blue vault +of the sky.</p> + +<p>With a choked sound, Miller +began to run. He did not slacken +his pace for fifteen minutes, until +around him were the familiar, +reassuring trees and shrub-bordered +houses of his own +street. But yet how strange to +him!</p> + +<p>The season was autumn, and +the air filled with brown and +golden leaves that tossed on a +frozen wind. Miller ran by two +boys lying on a lawn, petrified +into a modern counterpart of the +sculptor's "The Wrestlers." The +sweetish tang of burning leaves +brought a thrill of terror to him; +for, looking down an alley from +whence the smoke drifted, he +saw a man tending a fire whose +leaping flames were red tongues +that did not move.</p> + +<p>Sobbing with relief, the young +druggist darted up his own walk. +He tried the front door, found +it locked, and jammed a thumb +against the doorbell. But of +course the little metal button +was as immovable as a mountain. +So in the end, after convincing +himself that the key could not +be inserted into the lock, he +sprang toward the back.</p> + +<p>The screen door was not latched, +but it might as well have +been the steel door of a bank +vault. Miller began to pound on +it, shouting:</p> + +<p>"Helen! Helen, are you in +there? My God, dear, there's +something wrong! You've got +to—"</p> + +<p>The silence that flowed in again +when his voice choked off +was the dead stillness of the +tomb. He could hear his voice +rustling through the empty +rooms, and at last it came back +to him like a taunt: "<i>Helen! +Helen!</i>"</p> + +<hr class="chp" /> + +<h3>CHAPTER II<br /> +<i>Time Stands Still</i></h3> + +<p class="cap"><span class="dcap">For</span> Dave Miller, the world +was now a planet of death +on which he alone lived and +moved and spoke. Staggered, utterly +beaten, he made no attempt +to break into his home. But he +did stumble around to the kitchen +window and try to peer in, +anxious to see if there was a +body on the floor. The room was +in semi-darkness, however, and +his straining eyes made out +nothing.</p> + +<p>He returned to the front of +the house, shambling like a somnambulist. +Seated on the porch +steps, head in hands, he slipped +into a hell of regrets. He knew +now that his suicide had been no +hallucination. He was dead, all +right; and this must be hell or +purgatory.</p> + +<p>Bitterly he cursed his drinking, +that had led him to such a +mad thing as suicide. Suicide! +He—Dave Miller—a coward who +had taken his own life! Miller's +whole being crawled with revulsion. +If he just had the last year +to live over again, he thought +fervently.</p> + +<p>And yet, through it all, some +inner strain kept trying to tell +him he was not dead. This was +his own world, all right, and essentially +unchanged. What had +happened to it was beyond the +pale of mere guesswork. But this +one thing began to be clear: +This was a world in which +change or motion of any kind +was a foreigner.</p> + +<hr /> + +<p>Fire would not burn and +smoke did not rise. Doors would +not open, liquids were solid. Miller's +stubbing toe could not move +a pebble, and a blade of grass +easily supported his weight without bending. +In other words, Miller +began to understand, change +had been stopped as surely as if +a master hand had put a finger +on the world's balance wheel.</p> + +<p>Miller's ramblings were terminated +by the consciousness +that he had an acute headache. +His mouth tasted, as Herman +used to say after a big night, as +if an army had camped in it. +Coffee and a bromo were what +he needed.</p> + +<p>But it was a great awakening +to him when he found a restaurant +and learned that he could +neither drink the coffee nor get +the lid off the bromo bottle. Fragrant +coffee-steam hung over the +glass percolator, but even this +steam was as a brick wall to his +probing touch. Miller started +gloomily to thread his way +through the waiters in back of +the counter again.</p> + +<p>Moments later he stood in the +street and there were tears +swimming in his eyes.</p> + +<p>"Helen!" His voice was a +pleading whisper. "Helen, honey, +where are you?"</p> + +<p>There was no answer but the +pitiful palpitation of utter silence. +And then, there was movement +at Dave Miller's right!</p> + +<p>Something shot from between +the parked cars and crashed +against him; something brown +and hairy and soft. It knocked +him down. Before he could get +his breath, a red, wet tongue was +licking his face and hands, and +he was looking up into the face +of a police dog!</p> + +<p>Frantic with joy at seeing another +in this city of death, the +dog would scarcely let Miller +rise. It stood up to plant big +paws on his shoulders and try +to lick his face. Miller laughed +out loud, a laugh with a throaty +catch in it.</p> + +<p>"Where'd you come from, +boy?" he asked. "Won't they talk +to you, either? What's your +name, boy?"</p> + +<p>There was a heavy, brass-studded +collar about the animal's +neck, and Dave Miller read on its +little nameplate: "Major."</p> + +<p>"Well, Major, at least we've +got company now," was Miller's +sigh of relief.</p> + +<p>For a long time he was too +busy with the dog to bother +about the sobbing noises. Apparently +the dog failed to hear them, +for he gave no sign. Miller +scratched him behind the ear.</p> + +<p>"What shall we do now, Major? +Walk? Maybe your nose can +smell out another friend for us."</p> + +<p>They had gone hardly two +blocks when it came to him that +there was a more useful way of +spending their time. The library! +Half convinced that the +whole trouble stemmed from his +suicide shot in the head—which +was conspicuously absent now—he +decided that a perusal of the +surgery books in the public library +might yield something he +could use.</p> + +<hr /> + +<p>That way they bent their +steps, and were soon mounting +the broad cement stairs of the +building. As they went beneath +the brass turnstile, the librarian +caught Miller's attention with a +smiling glance. He smiled back.</p> + +<p>"I'm trying to find something +on brain surgery," he explained. +"I—"</p> + +<p>With a shock, then, he realized +he had been talking to himself.</p> + +<p>In the next instant, Dave Miller +whirled. A voice from the +bookcases chuckled:</p> + +<p>"If you find anything, I wish +you'd let me know. I'm stumped +myself!"</p> + +<hr /> + +<p>From a corner of the room +came an elderly, half-bald man +with tangled gray brows and a +rueful smile. A pencil was balanced +over his ear, and a note-book +was clutched in his hand.</p> + +<p>"You, too!" he said. "I had +hoped I was the only one—"</p> + +<p>Miller went forward hurriedly +to grip his hand.</p> + +<p>"I'm afraid I'm not so unselfish," +he admitted. "I've been +hoping for two hours that I'd +run into some other poor soul."</p> + +<p>"Quite understandable," the +stranger murmured sympathetically. +"But in my case it is different. +You see—I am responsible +for this whole tragic business!"</p> + +<p>"You!" Dave Miller gulped the +word. "I—I thought—"</p> + +<p>The man wagged his head, +staring at his note pad, which +was littered with jumbled calculations. +Miller had a chance to +study him. He was tall, heavily +built, with wide, sturdy shoulders +despite his sixty years. Oddly, +he wore a gray-green smock. +His eyes, narrowed and intent, +looked gimlet-sharp beneath +those toothbrush brows of his, as +he stared at the pad.</p> + +<p>"There's the trouble, right +there," he muttered. "I provided +only three stages of amplification, +whereas four would have +been barely enough. No wonder +the phase didn't carry through!"</p> + +<p>"I guess I don't follow you," +Miller faltered. "You mean—something +you did—"</p> + +<p>"I should think it was something +I did!" The baldish stranger +scratched his head with the +tip of his pencil. "I'm John +Erickson—you know, the Wanamaker +Institute."</p> + +<p>Miller said: "Oh!" in an understanding +voice. Erickson was +head of Wanamaker Institute, +first laboratory of them all when +it came to exploding atoms and +blazing trails into the wildernesses +of science.</p> + +<hr /> + +<p>Erickson's piercing eyes were +suddenly boring into the younger +man.</p> + +<p>"You've been sick, haven't +you?" he demanded.</p> + +<p>"Well—no—not really sick." +The druggist colored. "I'll have +to admit to being drunk a few +hours ago, though."</p> + +<p>"Drunk—" Erickson stuck his +tongue in his cheek, shook his +head, scowled. "No, that would +hardly do it. There must have +been something else. The impulsor +isn't <i>that</i> powerful. I can +understand about the dog, poor +fellow. He must have been run +over, and I caught him just at +the instant of passing from life +to death."</p> + +<p>"Oh!" Dave Miller lifted his +head, knowing now what Erickson +was driving at. "Well, I may +as well be frank. I'm—I committed +suicide. That's how drunk I +was. There hasn't been a suicide +in the Miller family in centuries. +It took a skinful of liquor to set +the precedent."</p> + +<p>Erickson nodded wisely. "Perhaps +we will find the precedent +hasn't really been set! But no +matter—" His lifted hand stopped +Miller's eager, wondering exclamation. +"The point is, young +man, we three are in a tough +spot, and it's up to us to get out +of it. And not only we, but heaven +knows how many others the +world over!"</p> + +<p>"Would you—maybe you can +explain to my lay mind what's +happened," Miller suggested.</p> + +<p>"Of course. Forgive me. You +see, Mr.—"</p> + +<p>"Miller. Dave Miller."</p> + +<p>"Dave it is. I have a feeling +we're going to be pretty well +acquainted before this is over. +You see, Dave, I'm a nut on so-called +'time theories.' I've seen +time compared to everything +from an entity to a long, pink +worm. But I disagree with them +all, because they postulate the +idea that time is constantly being +manufactured. Such reasoning +is fantastic!</p> + +<p>"Time exists. Not as an ever-growing +chain of links, because +such a chain would have to have +a tail end, if it has a front end; +and who can imagine the period +when time did not exist? So I +think time is like a circular +train-track. Unending. We who +live and die merely travel around +on it. The future exists simultaneously +with the past, for one +instant when they meet."</p> + +<hr /> + +<p>Miller's brain was humming. +Erickson shot the words at him +staccato-fashion, as if they were +things known from Great Primer +days. The young druggist +scratched his head.</p> + +<p>"You've got me licked," he admitted. +"I'm a stranger here, +myself."</p> + +<p>"Naturally you can't be expected +to understand things I've +been all my life puzzling about. +Simplest way I can explain it is +that we are on a train following +this immense circular railway.</p> + +<p>"When the train reaches the +point where it started, it is about +to plunge into the past; but this +is impossible, because the point +where it started is simply the +caboose of the train! And that +point is always ahead—and behind—the +time-train.</p> + +<p>"Now, my idea was that with +the proper stimulus a man could +be thrust across the diameter of +this circular railway to a point +in his past. Because of the nature +of time, he could neither go +ahead of the train to meet the +future nor could he stand still +and let the caboose catch up with +him. But—he could detour +across the circle and land farther +back on the train! And that, my +dear Dave, is what you and I +and Major have done—almost."</p> + +<p>"Almost?" Miller said hoarsely.</p> + +<p>Erickson pursed his lips. "We +are somewhere partway across +the space between present and +past. We are living in an instant +that can move neither forward +nor back. You and I, Dave, and +Major—and the Lord knows how +many others the world over—have +been thrust by my time impulsor +onto a timeless beach of +eternity. We have been caught in +time's backwash. Castaways, you +might say."</p> + +<p>An objection clamored for attention +in Miller's mind.</p> + +<p>"But if this is so, where are +the rest of them? Where is my +wife?"</p> + +<p>"They are right here," Erickson +explained. "No doubt you +could see your wife if you could +find her. But we see them as +statues, because, for us, time no +longer exists. But there was +something I did not count on. I +did not know that it would be +possible to live in one small instant +of time, as we are doing. +And I did not know that only +those who are hovering between +life and death can deviate from +the normal process of time!"</p> + +<p>"You mean—we're dead!" +Miller's voice was a bitter monotone.</p> + +<p>"Obviously not. We're talking +and moving, aren't we? But—we +are on the fence. When I +gave my impulsor the jolt of +high power, it went wrong and +I think something must have +happened to me. At the same instant, +you had shot yourself.</p> + +<p>"Perhaps, Dave, you are dying. +The only way for us to find +out is to try to get the machine +working and topple ourselves one +way or the other. If we fall back, +we will all live. If we fall into +the present—we may die."</p> + +<p>"Either way, it's better than +this!" Miller said fervently.</p> + +<p>"I came to the library here, +hoping to find out the things I +must know. My own books are +locked in my study. And these—they +might be cemented in their +places, for all their use to me. I +suppose we might as well go back +to the lab."</p> + +<p>Miller nodded, murmuring: +"Maybe you'll get an idea when +you look at the machine again."</p> + +<p>"Let's hope so," said Erickson +grimly. "God knows I've failed +so far!"</p> + +<hr class="chp" /> + +<h3>CHAPTER III<br /> +<i>Splendid Sacrifice</i></h3> + +<p class="cap"><span class="dcap">It was</span> a solid hour's walk out +to West Wilshire, where the +laboratory was. The immense +bronze and glass doors of Wanamaker +Institute were closed, and +so barred to the two men. But +Erickson led the way down the +side.</p> + +<p>"We can get in a service door. +Then we climb through transoms +and ventilators until we +get to my lab."</p> + +<p>Major frisked along beside +them. He was enjoying the action +and the companionship. It +was less of an adventure to Miller, +who knew death might be +ahead for the three of them.</p> + +<p>Two workmen were moving a +heavy cabinet in the side service +door. To get in, they climbed +up the back of the rear workman, +walked across the cabinet, +and scaled down the front of the +leading man. They went up the +stairs to the fifteenth floor. Here +they crawled through a transom +into the wing marked:</p> + +<p>"Experimental. Enter Only By +Appointment."</p> + +<p>Major was helped through it, +then they were crawling along +the dark metal tunnel of an air-conditioning +ventilator. It was +small, and took some wriggling.</p> + +<p>In the next room, they were +confronted by a stern receptionist +on whose desk was a little +brass sign, reading:</p> + +<p>"Have you an appointment?"</p> + +<p>Miller had had his share of +experience with receptionists' +ways, in his days as a pharmaceutical +salesman. He took the +greatest pleasure now in lighting +his cigarette from a match +struck on the girl's nose. Then he +blew the smoke in her face and +hastened to crawl through the +final transom.</p> + +<p>John Erickson's laboratory +was well lighted by a glass-brick +wall and a huge skylight. The +sun's rays glinted on the time +impulsor.<a name="FNanchor_A_1" id="FNanchor_A_1"></a><a href="#Footnote_A_1" class="fnanchor">[1]</a> The scientist explained +the impulsor in concise terms. +When he had finished, Dave Miller +knew just as little as before, +and the outfit still resembled +three transformers in a line, of +the type seen on power-poles, +connected to a great bronze globe +hanging from the ceiling.</p> + +<p>"There's the monster that put +us in this plight," Erickson +grunted. "Too strong to be legal, +too weak to do the job right. +Take a good look!"</p> + +<hr /> + +<p>With his hands jammed in +his pockets, he frowned at the +complex machinery. Miller stared +a few moments; then transferred +his interests to other things in +the room. He was immediately +struck by the resemblance of a +transformer in a far corner to +the ones linked up with the impulsor.</p> + +<p>"What's that?" he asked +quickly. "Looks the same as the +ones you used over there."</p> + +<p>"It is."</p> + +<p>"But— Didn't you say all you +needed was another stage of +power?"</p> + +<p>"That's right."</p> + +<p>"Maybe I'm crazy!" Miller +stared from impulsor to transformer +and back again. "Why +don't you use it, then?"</p> + +<p>"Using what for the connection?" +Erickson's eyes gently +mocked him.</p> + +<p>"Wire, of course!"</p> + +<p>The scientist jerked a thumb +at a small bale of heavy copper +wire.</p> + +<p>"Bring it over and we'll try +it."</p> + +<p>Miller was halfway to it when +he brought up short. Then a +sheepish grin spread over his +features.</p> + +<p>"I get it," he chuckled. "That +bale of wire might be the Empire +State Building, as far as +we're concerned. Forgive my +stupidity."</p> + +<p>Erickson suddenly became +serious.</p> + +<p>"I'd like to be optimistic, +Dave," he muttered, "but in all +fairness to you I must tell you +I see no way out of this. The +machine is, of course, still +working, and with that extra +stage of power, the uncertainty +would be over. But where, in this +world of immovable things, will +we find a piece of wire twenty-five +feet long?"</p> + +<hr /> + +<p>There was a warm, moist sensation +against Miller's hand, and +when he looked down Major +stared up at him commiseratingly. +Miller scratched him behind +the ear, and the dog closed his +eyes, reassured and happy. The +young druggist sighed, wishing +there were some giant hand to +scratch him behind the ear and +smooth <i>his</i> troubles over.</p> + +<p>"And if we don't get out," he +said soberly, "we'll starve, I suppose."</p> + +<p>"No, I don't think it will be +that quick. I haven't felt any +hunger. I don't expect to. After +all, our bodies are still living in +one instant of time, and a man +can't work up a healthy appetite +in one second. Of course, +this elastic-second business precludes +the possibility of disease.</p> + +<p>"Our bodies must go on unchanged. +The only hope I see is—when +we are on the verge of +madness, suicide. That means +jumping off a bridge, I suppose. +Poison, guns, knives—all the +usual wherewithal—are denied +to us."</p> + +<p>Black despair closed down on +Dave Miller. He thrust it back, +forcing a crooked grin.</p> + +<p>"Let's make a bargain," he +offered. "When we finish fooling +around with this apparatus, we +split up. We'll only be at each +other's throat if we stick together. +I'll be blaming you for my +plight, and I don't want to. It's +my fault as much as yours. How +about it?"</p> + +<p>John Erickson gripped his +hand. "You're all right, Dave. +Let me give you some advice. If +ever you do get back to the present +... keep away from liquor. +Liquor and the Irish never did +mix. You'll have that store on +its feet again in no time."</p> + +<p>"Thanks!" Miller said fervently. +"And I think I can promise +that nothing less than a +whiskey antidote for snake bite +will ever make me bend an elbow +again!"</p> + +<hr /> + +<p>For the next couple of hours, +despondency reigned in the laboratory. +But it was soon to be +deposed again by hope.</p> + +<p>Despite all of Erickson's scientific +training, it was Dave Miller +himself who grasped the +down-to-earth idea that started +them hoping again. He was walking +about the lab, jingling keys +in his pocket, when suddenly he +stopped short. He jerked the +ring of keys into his hand.</p> + +<p>"Erickson!" he gasped. "We've +been blind. Look at this!"</p> + +<p>The scientist looked; but he +remained puzzled.</p> + +<p>"Well—?" he asked skeptically.</p> + +<p>"There's our wire!" Dave Miller +exclaimed. "You've got keys; +I've got keys. We've got coins, +knives, wristwatches. Why can't +we lay them all end to end—"</p> + +<p>Erickson's features looked as +if he had been electrically +shocked.</p> + +<p>"You've hit it!" he cried. "If +we've got enough!"</p> + +<p>With one accord, they began +emptying their pockets, tearing +off wristwatches, searching for +pencils. The finds made a little +heap in the middle of the floor. +Erickson let his long fingers +claw through thinning hair.</p> + +<p>"God give us enough! We'll +only need the one wire. The +thing is plugged in already and +only the positive pole has to be +connected to the globe. Come +on!"</p> + +<p>Scooping up the assortment of +metal articles, they rushed +across the room. With his pocket-knife, +Dave Miller began breaking +up the metal wrist-watch +straps, opening the links out so +that they could be laid end-to-end +for the greatest possible +length. They patiently broke the +watches to pieces, and of the +junk they garnered made a ragged +foot and a half of "wire." +Their coins stretched the line +still further.</p> + +<p>They had ten feet covered before +the stuff was half used up. +Their metal pencils, taken apart, +gave them a good two feet. Key +chains helped generously. With +eighteen feet covered, their progress +began to slow down.</p> + +<p>Perspiration poured down Miller's +face. Desperately, he tore +off his lodge ring and cut it in +two to pound it flat. From garters +and suspenders they won a +few inches more. And then—they +stopped—feet from their goal.</p> + +<p>Miller groaned. He tossed his +pocket-knife in his hand.</p> + +<p>"We can get a foot out of +this," he estimated. "But that +still leaves us way short."</p> + +<p>Abruptly, Erickson snapped +his fingers.</p> + +<p>"Shoes!" he gasped. "They're +full of nails. Get to work with +that knife, Dave. We'll cut out +every one of 'em!"</p> + +<hr /> + +<p>In ten minutes, the shoes were +reduced to ragged piles of tattered +leather. Erickson's deft +fingers painstakingly placed the +nails, one by one, in the line. The +distance left to cover was less +than six inches!</p> + +<p>He lined up the last few nails. +Then both men were sinking +back on their heels, as they saw +there was a gap of three inches to +cover!</p> + +<p>"Beaten!" Erickson ground +out. "By three inches! Three +inches from the present ... and +yet it might as well be a million +miles!"</p> + +<p>Miller's body felt as though it +were in a vise. His muscles +ached with strain. So taut were +his nerves that he leaped as +though stung when Major +nuzzled a cool nose into his hand +again. Automatically, he began +to stroke the dog's neck.</p> + +<p>"Well, that licks us," he muttered. +"There isn't another piece +of movable metal in the world."</p> + +<p>Major kept whimpering and +pushing against him. Annoyed, +the druggist shoved him away.</p> + +<p>"Go 'way," he muttered. "I +don't feel like—"</p> + +<p>Suddenly then his eyes widened, +as his touch encountered +warm metal. He whirled.</p> + +<p>"There it is!" he yelled. "The +last link. <i>The nameplate on Major's +collar!</i>"</p> + +<p>In a flash, he had torn the little +rectangular brass plate from the +dog collar. Erickson took it from +his grasp. Sweat stood shiny on +his skin. He held the bit of metal +over the gap between wire and +pole.</p> + +<p>"This is it!" he smiled brittlely. +"We're on our way, Dave. +Where, I don't know. To death, +or back to life. But—we're going!"</p> + +<p>The metal clinked into place. +Live, writhing power leaped +through the wire, snarling +across partial breaks. The transformers +began to hum. The humming +grew louder. Singing softly, +the bronze globe over their +heads glowed green. Dave Miller +felt a curious lightness. There +was a snap in his brain, and +Erickson, Major and the laboratory +faded from his senses.</p> + +<p>Then came an interval when +the only sound was the soft sobbing +he had been hearing as if +in a dream. That, and blackness +that enfolded him like soft velvet. +Then Miller was opening his +eyes, to see the familiar walls +of his own kitchen around him!</p> + +<p>Someone cried out.</p> + +<p>"Dave! Oh, Dave, dear!"</p> + +<p>It was Helen's voice, and it +was Helen who cradled his head +in her lap and bent her face +close to his.</p> + +<p>"Oh, thank God that you're +alive—!"</p> + +<p>"Helen!" Miller murmured. +"What—are—you—doing here?"</p> + +<p>"I couldn't go through with it. +I—I just couldn't leave you. I +came back and—and I heard the +shot and ran in. The doctor +should be here. I called him five +minutes ago."</p> + +<p>"<i>Five minutes</i> ... How long +has it been since I shot myself?"</p> + +<p>"Oh, just six or seven minutes. +I called the doctor right away."</p> + +<p>Miller took a deep breath. +Then it <i>must</i> have been a dream. +All that—to happen in a few +minutes— It wasn't possible!</p> + +<p>"How—how could I have +botched the job?" he muttered. "I +wasn't drunk enough to miss myself +completely."</p> + +<p>Helen looked at the huge revolver +lying in the sink.</p> + +<p>"Oh, that old forty-five of +Grandfather's! It hasn't been +loaded since the Civil War. I +guess the powder got damp or +something. It just sort of sputtered +instead of exploding properly. +Dave, promise me something! +You won't ever do anything +like this again, if I promise +not to nag you?"</p> + +<p>Dave Miller closed his eyes. +"There won't be any need to nag, +Helen. Some people take a lot of +teaching, but I've had my lesson. +I've got ideas about the +store which I'd been too lazy to +try out. You know, I feel more +like fighting right now than I +have for years! We'll lick 'em, +won't we, honey?"</p> + +<p>Helen buried her face in the +hollow of his shoulder and cried +softly. Her words were too +muffled to be intelligible. But +Dave Miller understood what she +meant.</p> + +<hr /> + +<p>He had thought the whole +thing a dream—John Erickson, +the "time impulsor" and Major. +But that night he read an item +in the <i>Evening Courier</i> that was +to keep him thinking for many +days.</p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p class="center">POLICE INVESTIGATE +DEATH OF SCIENTIST +HERE IN LABORATORY</p> + +<p>John M. Erickson, director +of the Wanamaker Institute, +died at his work last +night. Erickson was a beloved +and valuable figure in +the world of science, famous +for his recently publicized +"time lapse" theory.</p> + +<p>Two strange circumstances +surrounded his +death. One was the presence +of a German shepherd dog +in the laboratory, its head +crushed as if with a sledgehammer. +The other was a +chain of small metal objects +stretching from one corner +of the room to the other, as +if intended to take the place +of wire in a circuit.</p> + +<p>Police, however, discount +this idea, as there was a roll +of wire only a few feet from +the body.</p></div> + +<div class="p1"><p class="center"><b>THE END</b></p></div> + +<div class="footnotes"><h3>FOOTNOTES:</h3> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_A_1" id="Footnote_A_1"></a><a href="#FNanchor_A_1"><span class="label">[1]</span></a> Obviously this electric time impulsor is +a machine in the nature of an atomic integrator. +It "broadcasts" great waves of electrons +which align all atomic objects in rigid +suspension. +</p><p> +That is to say, atomic structures are literally +"frozen." Living bodies are similarly +affected. It is a widely held belief on the part +of many eminent scientists that all matter, +broken down into its elementary atomic +composition, is electrical in structure. +</p><p> +That being so, there is no reason to suppose +why Professor Erickson may not have +discovered a time impulsor which, broadcasting +electronic impulses, "froze" everything +within its range.—<span class="smcap">Ed.</span></p></div> +</div> + +<div class="trn"><b>Transcriber's Note:</b> +This etext was produced from <i>Amazing Stories</i> April 1956 +and was first published in <i>Amazing Stories</i> October 1940. +Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that the U.S. +copyright on this publication was renewed. Minor spelling and +typographical errors have been corrected without note.</div> + + + + + + + + +<pre> + + + + + +End of Project Gutenberg's The Day Time Stopped Moving, by Bradner Buckner + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE DAY TIME STOPPED MOVING *** + +***** This file should be named 27053-h.htm or 27053-h.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + http://www.gutenberg.org/2/7/0/5/27053/ + +Produced by Greg Weeks, Stephen Blundell and the Online +Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net + + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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