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diff --git a/.gitattributes b/.gitattributes new file mode 100644 index 0000000..9f57f44 --- /dev/null +++ b/.gitattributes @@ -0,0 +1,13 @@ +* text=auto +*.txt text +*.md text +*.htm text +*.html text +*.png binary +*.jpg binary +*.svg text +*.pdf binary +*.bmp binary +*.zip binary +*.midi binary +*.mp3 binary diff --git a/79007-0.txt b/79007-0.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..11687b8 --- /dev/null +++ b/79007-0.txt @@ -0,0 +1,965 @@ +*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 79007 *** + + + + + Founding Fathers + + by Robert Bloch + + + + + _We doubt if anyone but Robert Bloch could dissolve what at first + appears to be an outrageous distortion of history--the Founding + Fathers in gangster roles!--into such a sunburst of dazzling humor + that we find ourselves forgiving him almost before we discover that + there is nothing to forgive. You see, the opening scene of this + hilarious science fantasy isn’t really in the least irreverent, for + the astounding, turnabout climax sets history by the ears!_ + + =If you’re determined to change history nothing can equal a + time-machine. But be warned! You may prematurely whiten your bones!= + + + + +Early on the morning of July 4th, 1776, Thomas Jefferson poked his +peruked head into the deserted chamber of what was to be known as +Independence Hall and yelled, “Come on, you guys, the coast is clear!” + +As he stepped into the big room he was followed by John Hancock, who +puffed nervously on a cigarette. + +“All right,” Jefferson said. “Ditch the butt, will ya? You wanna louse +us up, creep?” + +“Sorry, boss.” Hancock glanced around the place, then addressed a third +man who entered behind him. “Dig this,” he murmured. “Not an ashtray in +the joint. What kind of a setup we got here anyway, Nunzio?” + +The third man scowled. “Don’t call me Nunzio,” he growled. “The name’s +Charles Thomson, remember?” + +“Okay, Chuck.” + +“Charles!” The third man dug John Hancock in the ribs. “Straighten that +wig of yours. Ya look like somethin’ out of a Boy Scout pageant yet.” + +John Hancock shrugged. “Well, whaddya expeck? Guy can’t even smoke, and +these here britches are so tight I’m scared to sit down in ’em.” + +Thomas Jefferson turned and confronted him. “You ain’t gonna sit down,” +he said. “All you gotta do is sign and keep your yap shut. Let Ben do +the talking, remember?” + +“Ben?” + +“Benjamin Franklin, schmoe,” said Thomas Jefferson. + +“Somebody mention my name?” The short fat balding man hurried into the +room, carefully adjusting square-lensed spectacles to the bridge of his +nose. + +“What took you so long?” Thomas Jefferson demanded. “You run into +trouble back there?” + +“No trouble,” Benjamin Franklin replied. “They’re out cold, and the +gags are holding. It’s just these glasses--the lenses distort my +vision. I’d forgotten I’d have to wear them.” + +“Can’t you ditch ’em?” + +“No. Somebody might get suspicious.” Franklin peered at his companions +over the tops of the spectacles. “They’re likely to get suspicious +anyway, if you don’t do what I told you.” He glanced around the room. +“What time is it?” + +Thomas Jefferson fumbled with the ruffles at his sleeves and gazed down +at the face of his wristwatch. “Seven-thirty,” he announced. + +“You’re sure?” + +“Checked it with Western Union.” + +“Never mind that Western Union talk. And take off that thing--put it in +your pocket. It’s stuff like that can get us into trouble.” + +“Trouble,” John Hancock groaned. “These here shoes are killin’ me. They +ain’t nearly my size.” + +“Well wear them and be quiet,” Benjamin Franklin told him. “I wish to +God you’d remembered to shave, too. Fine thing--the President of the +Continental Congress on the most important day of our history, coming +in without shaving.” + +“I forgot. Also they was no place to plug in an electric shaver.” + +“Well, never mind now. The main thing is just to be quiet and remember +what you’re supposed to do. Mr. Jefferson, do you have the Declaration?” + +Nobody answered. Franklin strode up to the tall man in the peruke. +“Jefferson, that’s you I’m talking to.” + +“I forgot.” The big man smiled sheepishly. + +“You’d better not forget. Now, where is it?” + +“Right here in my pocket.” + +“Well, get it out. We’ve got to sign right away, before anybody else +shows up. I expect they’ll start drifting in around eight at the +latest.” + +“Eight?” Jefferson sighed. “Do you mean to tell me they go to work that +early here?” + +“Our friends in the back room looked as if they’d been working all +night,” Franklin reminded him. + +“Ain’t they never heard of union hours?” + +“No, and don’t you mention it, either.” Franklin surveyed his +companions earnestly. “That goes for all of you. Watch your tongues. We +can’t afford a slip-up.” + +“Telling me?” Charles Thomson took the parchment from Thomas Jefferson +and unfolded it. + +“Careful with that,” Franklin warned. + +“Pipe down, will ya? I just wanna take a look at it,” Thomson replied. +“I ain’t never seen that there thing.” He glanced at the manuscript +curiously. “Hey, dig this crazy hanwriting. Its all lettering, like.” + +He spread the Declaration on a table and squinted down at it, mumbling +aloud. + +“‘When inna course a human events, it becomes nessary for one people to +dissolve the political bands which have connecked them with another, +and to assume among the powers of the earth the separate’--hey, what +kinda double-talk is this, anyway? Whyn’t these guys write English, +huh?” + +“Never mind.” Ben Franklin took the parchment from him and strode to +a desk. “I’m going to revise it right now.” He rummaged around in the +drawer, finding fresh parchment and a quill pen. “I’m not up to copying +the lettering style, I’m afraid, but I can explain that to the Congress +easily enough. I’ll tell them that Jefferson here made his last-minute +changes in a hurry. The hurry part of it is no lie.” + +He bent over the blank parchment and studied the Declaration as it +rested alongside. “Got to keep the style,” he said. “Very important. +But the main thing is to add the provisions at the end.” + +“Provisions?” John Hancock brightened. “We gonna have some grub, hey? +I’m starved.” + +“That can wait,” Jefferson snapped. “Now keep still and let the guy +work. This is the most important part of the whole caper, understand?” + +Then there was silence in the room--silence except for the busy +scratching of the quill pen as Benjamin Franklin wrote. Jefferson stood +over his shoulder, nodding from time to time. “Don’t forget to put in +that part about me being temporary boss,” he said. “And stick in that +we need a treasurer.” + +Franklin nodded impatiently. “I’ve got it all down here,” he answered. +“Nothing to worry about.” + +“Think they’ll sign?” + +“Sure they’ll sign. It’s only logical. Right after the part about being +free and independent states there should be a mention of a temporary +governing arrangement. They can’t object to that. Wonder why it was +left out in the first place.” + +“Search me.” Jefferson shrugged. “How would I know?” + +“Well, you’re supposed to have written it.” + +“Oh, yeah, that’s right.” + +Franklin finished, sat back, and poked at Jefferson’s chest with his +quill. “Cough,” he said. + +Jefferson coughed. + +“Again. Louder.” + +“What’s the big idea?” + +“You’ve got laryngitis,” Franklin told him. “A bad case. That’s why +you’re not talking. Anybody asks you any questions, you just cough. +Right?” + +“Okay. I didn’t want to talk anyway.” + +Franklin gazed at Hancock and Thomson. “You two better sign and +disappear. When the gang arrives, you go in the back room and keep +an eye on our buddies there. I’ll make up some excuse why you’re not +around--can’t take the risk of having you cornered and questioned. Got +it?” + +The two men nodded. Franklin extended the quill pen. “Here. You two are +supposed to sign first.” As John Hancock reached for the pen, Franklin +chuckled. “Just put your John Hancock right here.” + +Hancock signed with a flourish. He gave the pen to Charles Thomson. + +“Remember, you’re the secretary,” Franklin said, as Thomson dipped the +quill in the inkwell. “What’s the matter, that quill too clumsy for +you?” + +“Sure it’s clumsy,” Thomson said. “And these clothes are murder. +And none of us guys knows how to talk. We can’t get away with this, +Thinker. We’re gonna make mistakes.” + +Benjamin Franklin stood up. “We’re going to make history,” he declared. +“Just follow orders and everything will be all right.” He paused +and lifted his hand. “In the immortal words of myself--Benjamin +Franklin--we must all hang together, or assuredly we shall all hang +separately.” + + + + + II + + +They had hung together for a long time in Philly--Sammy, Nunzio, Mush +and Thinker Tomaszewski. They shoved a little queer, peddled a few +decks, but mostly they made book. + +It was a nice setup for all of them, particularly since the Thinker +came into the deal. The Thinker was a genuine shyster, with a degree +and an office and everything, and he fronted for the outfit. The funny +part of it was, Thinker Tomaszewski had a regular law practice too, +and he could have made a pretty nice piece of change without cutting +corners. + +But he worked with them for kicks, at first. + +“The only way I can explain it,” he told them, “is that I don’t seem +to have a super-ego.” Always with the two-dollar words, that was the +Thinker. + +And it was his two-dollar words that finally got them into trouble. In +the beginning, everything was fine. Using his law office as a front, +he had no difficulty in getting acquainted with a better class of +mark--not the two-bucks-on-the-nose working stiff, but heavy bettors. +He steered them to Sammy or Nunzio or Mush, and they made a big book. + +They made a big buck, too. So big that they just had to place a few +bets of their own, with some of the top wheels like Mickey Tarantino. +Playing it smart, of course, and working only on inside tips, when they +were sure of a horse getting the needle. + + * * * * * + +Came an afternoon when the needle stuck. And they were stuck for twenty +grand. Mickey Tarantino held out his hand and smiled. But the smile +vanished when Sammy went to him and said he needed time to pay up. + +“Whaddya mean?” Mr. Tarantino had inquired. “You guys are loaded. Look +at all the rich suckers you make book with.” + +“All we got to show for it is markers,” Sammy confessed. “It’s like +your old man’s delicatessen. The poor guys pay and the highclass trade +puts it on the cuff. You know how those big operators work. Well, it’s +the same in our line. You can’t collect from them.” + +“You damn well better colleck,” Mr. Tarantino advised. “Because you +got until tomorrow morning. Or elst you wind up in Plotter’s Field, or +wherever.” + +So Sammy went away and called a meeting at Thinker Tomaszewski’s office +and broke the news. + +Thinker had news for them too. “Tarantino isn’t the only one who thinks +we’re rolling in the stuff,” he announced. “Uncle Sam is looking down +our throats for a little matter of back income taxes.” + +“Great!” Sammy groaned. “Tarantino’s hoods in front of us and the +Federal finks behind us. Which way do we turn?” + +“I suggest you turn to our clients,” Thinker answered. “Call on some of +our investors and ask them to redeem their markers.” + +So Sammy and Nunzio and Mush called. And early that evening they +assembled and pooled results. + +“Three grand!” Sammy snorted. “Three lousy grand!” + +“Is that all?” The Thinker was genuinely mystified. “I should have +thought you’d get more than that.” + +“Sure we got more. Excuses we got, promises we got, brush-offs we got. +But here’s the moola. Three grand, period.” + +“How about Cobbett?” Thinker asked. + +“Professor Cobbett? He’s your baby, isn’t he?” + +The Thinker nodded. Professor Cobbett was indeed his baby. One of the +upper crust. + +“What’s he into us for?” Sammy demanded. + +“About eight, I think.” + +“Eight and three is eleven. Not so hot. But if we could get it fast, +maybe Tarantino would hold off for a while.” + +“Let’s get it fast,” Mush suggested. “Let’s go out and see old Cobbett +right now.” + +So they all piled into Sammy’s car and went out to see old Cobbett. The +Professor had a country place--a nice layout for a man who lived all +alone--and he was cordial and pleasant when he greeted the Thinker on +the front porch. + +He was not quite so cordial or pleasant when he learned what the +Thinker wanted, and he was downright inhospitable when the Thinker +beckoned and his three companions appeared out of the darkness. + +They had to stick their feet in the door and they had to stick their +heaters in his ribs. + +“No foolin’,” Nunzio told him. “We want our loot.” + +“Oh dear!” said Professor Cobbett, as they marched him backwards into +his own parlor. “But I have no money.” + +“Don’t con us,” Mush told him. “Look at this joint, all this fancy +furniture.” + +“Mortgaged,” the Professor sighed. “Mortgaged to the hilt, and past it.” + +“What about this here school where you teach at?” Mush asked. “You +could maybe brace them for some advance dough on your salary, huh?” + +“I am no longer connected with the university.” + +“What gives here?” Sammy wanted to know. + +“Yes,” Thinker added. “I thought you were a wealthy man.” + +The Professor shrugged and ran his hand through his graying hair. +“Things are not always what they seem,” he said. “For example, +I considered you to be a reputable professional man. And when I +innocently inquired about the possibilities of placing a small bet on +the races, I never dreamed you were associated with these ruffians.” + +“Watch that talk,” Sammy warned. “We ain’t no more ruffians than eight +grand is a small bet. Now whaddya mean about things ain’t always what +they seem?” + +“Well, it’s like this,” the Professor answered. “I did have a certain +sum of money set aside--yes. And I did have a position of some eminence +at the university. The fact that both money and position are gone today +can be attributed to one thing--my private research project. + +“The cost of experimental models reduced my savings. The revelation of +my theories cost me my faculty position. An attempt to raise funds to +continue my work led me to the last resort--betting on the races. Now I +have nothing.” + +“You can say that again,” Sammy told him. “In about three minutes +you’re gonna have nothing with lace around it.” + +“Wait a moment,” the Thinker interrupted. “Experimental models, you +said. What have you been building?” + +“I’ll show you, if you like.” + +“Come on,” Sammy ordered. “Boys, keep the heaters warm, in case he +pulls a funny.” + +But the Professor didn’t pull a funny. He led them downstairs to what +had been the basement, and was now an ornate private laboratory. He led +them up to the large rectangular metal structure, covered with coils +and tubing. It had a vague resemblance to an outhouse designed by Frank +Lloyd Wright. + +“Jeez,” Nunzio commented. “Whatchoo doin’, buildin’ one of them there +Frankensteens?” + +“I bet it’s a space-ship,” Mush hazarded. “Was you gonna make a getaway +to Mars?” + +“Please,” the Professor sighed. “You’re making sport of me.” + +“We’re making hamburger of you in another minute,” Sammy corrected him. +“This doojigger ain’t no use to us. Couldn’t get twenny bucks for it at +a junk-yard.” + +Thinker Tomaszewski shook his head. “Just what is this object, +Professor?” + +Professor Cobbett blushed. “I hesitate to designate it as such, after +the rebuffs I received at the hands of supposed authorities, but there +is no other intelligible term for it. It is a time-machine.” + +“Oof!” Sammy put his hand to his forehead. “And this is what we let get +into us for eight grand. A nutty scientist, yet!” + +The Thinker frowned at him. “A time-machine, you say? An instrument +capable of transporting one forward or backwards in time?” + +“Backwards only,” the Professor answered. “Forward travel is manifestly +impossible, since the future is non-existent. And travel is not the +best word. Transit more closely approximates the meaning, insofar as +time possesses no material or spatial characteristics, being bound to +a three-dimensional universe by the single observable phenomenon which +manifests itself as duration. Now if duration is designated as X, and--” + +“Shuddup!” Nunzio suggested. “Let’s kiss off this joker and scram outta +here. We’re wastin’ time.” + +“Wasting time.” The Thinker nodded. “Professor Cobbett, is this a +working model?” + +“I’m practically positive. It has never been tested. But I can show you +formulae which--” + +“Never mind that now. Why haven’t you tested it?” + +“Because I’m not sure of the past. Or rather, our present relationship +to it. If any person or object in present time were sent to the +past, alterations would occur. What is here now would be absent, and +something added to what was there, then. This addition would alter the +past. And if the past were altered, then it would not be the _same_ +past we know.” He frowned. “It’s hard to state without recourse to +symbolic logic.” + +“You mean you’re afraid that by time-travel you’d change the past? Or +come out in a different past--a past _made_ different _because_ you +traveled into it?” + +“That’s an over-simplification, but you have the general idea.” + +“Then what good is your work on this?” + +“No good, I’m afraid. But I wanted to prove a point. It became an +almost monomaniacal obsession. I have no excuses.” + +“So.” Sammy stepped forward. “Thanks for the lecture, but like you say, +you got no excuses. And we got no time. This here basement looks like a +nice soundproof place for target practice--” + +The Thinker grabbed Sammy’s arm. “What’s the sense?” he asked. + +“The guy welshed.” + +“So he welshed. Will murder change that? Will murder help us now?” + +“No.” Sammy bit his lip. “But what we gonna do? We got no dough. We got +Tarantino after us, and also the govmint. We can’t go back to town.” + +The Thinker looked around. “Why not stay here, then? We’re safe, +isolated, with a nice big roof over our heads. Let’s enjoy the +Professor’s hospitality for a while.” + +“Yeah,” Mush said. “But how long? We’re gonna run out of dough, or +food, or somethin’. We’d just be stallin’ for time.” + +The Thinker smiled. “Stalling for time.” He gazed intently at the +complicated structure in the center of the cellar. “But here is the +logical vehicle for a getaway.” + +“You mean jump in that dizzy outfit and beat it?” Sammy demanded. +“You’re kidding.” + +“I’m serious,” the Thinker replied. “Some time in the near future we’ll +be safe in the past.” + + + + + III + + +It took a lot of figuring. That was the Thinker’s job, working with the +Professor during the next few days. + +“How do you set the controls up? Is this for steering?” + +“You do not steer--you press the computers. Here, I’ll show you again.” + +“And you can choose any time in the past, any time at all?” asked the +Thinker. + +“Theoretically. The main problem is accurate computation. Remember, we +and our earth are not static. We do not occupy the same position in +space that we did an instant ago, let alone a longer period. We must +consider the speed of light, planetary motion, inclination, and--” + +“That’s going to be your department. But you can establish past +position mathematically and set up a guiding-plan for the computers +accordingly?” + +“I’m reasonably certain of it.” + +“Then all that remains is to determine where--or rather, _when_ we’re +going to.” + +Sammy and Nunzio and Mush tackled _that_ problem on their own. + +“Jeez, mebbe alls we gotta do is go back a couple weeks to before when +the Professor made his bets. Then we ain’t out no dough.” + +“Yeah? What about them there back taxes?” + +“So we go to before when we owed ’em.” + +“That’s when we went into business, stupid. We was broke.” + +“Well, if we can go anywheres we want in time, how’s about way back, +to the Egypians, like? I seen one of them there pitchers, they had all +these hot broads runnin’ around in their unnerwear--” + +“You talk Egypian, stupid? Besides, we don’t wanna stay back someplace +forever. Way I figger, we go to some time where we can lay our mitts on +some loot, real fast-like. And then come back.” + +“Now you got it. That’s the angle. Hey, how about that there Gold Rush?” + +The Professor interrupted them. “I’m afraid the Gold Rush wouldn’t +be of much use to you gentlemen. After all, it occurred in the year +eighteen hundred and forty-nine.” + +“But you can send us to eighteen forty-nine, can’t you?” + +“Conceivably, if my theory is correct. But you would not be in +California. You would still be right here in Philadelphia, in the field +which stood here before this house was built.” + +“Then we gotta find our loot in Philly, huh? Somewheres in the past?” + +“I’m afraid so.” + +“Jeez. And we can’t show up in no vacant field with that machine, +either.” + +Then the Thinker took over. “I am beginning to pinpoint our problem,” +he announced. “Professor, I am going to utilize your library for a day +or so. Perhaps I can discover when gold was available in Philadelphia.” + +“There’s always the Mint.” + +“Too well-guarded. We’d never be able to loot it, any more than it +could have been looted by past efforts.” + +“Banks?” Sammy brightened. “With our heaters, we could knock over one +of them big jugs easy--say, a hunnert years ago.” + +“And come out with what? Oldfashioned greenbacks? We wouldn’t be able +to use currency of that era today. Arouse suspicion. No, I’m looking +for gold.” + +Finally, in a copy of Berkeley’s _History of the Revolution_, the +Thinker found it. He broke in upon the others as they sat guarding +Professor Cobbett. + +“Here’s the answer!” he exulted. “Remember what happened in +Philadelphia on July fourth, seventeen seventy-six?” + +“That’s a holiday, ain’t it?” Nunzio brightened. “Must be the Phillies +took on the Giants in a double-header.” + +“Seventeen seventy-six stupid!” Sammy scowled. “Yeah, I remember. They +made Washington the President.” + +“Nah. It was the Decoration of Indepenence,” Mush corrected. + +“Right. The Declaration of Independence was presented to the +Continental Congress assembled at what is now Independence Hall. And +so forth. But here’s another little-known fact. At the same place, on +the same day, the Revolutionary treasury was turned over to a small +group for temporary storage. It consisted of upwards of thirty thousand +pounds sterling in smelted ingots. That’s about a hundred and fifty +thousand dollars in gold.” + + * * * * * + +“Brother!” Sammy whistled. “What a way to celebrate the Fourth!” Then +he frowned. “I’ll bet they had plenny guards around.” + +“No, that’s just the point. It was all a secret--few people know of it +to this day. Troops brought it in a wagon, around noon. They thought +they were hauling documents. It was carted upstairs, and no guards +were posted lest suspicion be aroused. Its presence was known only to +Benjamin Franklin, Thomas Jefferson, and one or two others--probably +John Hancock and maybe Charles Thomson, the Secretary of the Congress. +It was to be used to pay troops and buy supplies.” + +“It sure could help to pay off old Mickey Tarantino and the Feds. And +leave us plenny to spare.” + +“That is exactly what I had in mind, gentlemen.” The Thinker smiled. +“Now all that remains is to work out the details. I shall concentrate +on the historical aspect and the Professor here can work out the +mathematical computations.” + +Professor Cobbett blanched. “Mathematical computations? But you’re +asking the impossible. Why, that was over a hundred and eighty +light-years ago; we’ll be faced with the problem of billion-fold +magnitudes, and the slightest error or variation can have serious +consequences.” + +“Ain’t gonna be no errors,” Sammy told him. “Or consequences will be +really serious. _For you._” He showed the Professor his heater. “Now +get to work. We’re going places.” + +“Going places.” Mush looked at him. “All this here stuff was at +Indepenence Hall. The machine’s here in the cellar. We gonna come out +on July fourth inna cow-pasture or somethin’?” + +“That’s your job,” Sammy decided. “Case this joint. See how it’s set +up for guards at night. Alarm-system, the works. Look it over like you +would a bank job. I think we can take over. Nobody’s gonna think a mob +would break into a Hysterical Shrine or whatever. We get things set, we +hire us a truck and cart the machine right down to the Hall and take +off from there some night soon. Right?” + +“Hey, that’s a tough deal.” + +“Things are tough all over,” Sammy said. “Now get going.” + +So Mush got going and the Professor got going and the Thinker got going +too. And before the first week was up they were organized. + +Mush made his report. The invasion of Independence Hall could be made +without too much trouble. Of course it would cost money for the truck, +and there might be repercussions, but they could try to pull it off. + +And in view of their present hopeless situation--and in view of the +possible gain--it was worth the gamble, Sammy decided. + +The Professor presented them with the working manual, based on his +computations. + +“Are you sure this gets us there?” Sammy demanded. “And back, too?” + +“Look it over,” the Professor said. “See for yourself.” + +“It’s all right,” the Thinker told him. “I’ve checked it. See, we have +no set time for return. Our plans call for us to get the gold and come +back as soon after the noon hour as possible. So the Professor has +worked out return-variations based on five-minute intervals throughout +the early afternoon. It’s as foolproof as we can hope to make it.” + +“All right, if you say so.” Sammy shrugged. “But what I want to know +is, what do we do when we get there?” + +“I’ve been working on that angle,” the Thinker said. “Checking all the +source books and references I could muster. History texts. Biographical +data on Franklin and Jefferson in particular. And I’ve got a plan. +Apparently the first ones to arrive that morning were Jefferson and +Thomson. Franklin and John Hancock came in early too. + +“It’s not quite clear whether any of them spent part of the night +there. The important thing is that the four men conceivably held an +early morning meeting, discussing the Declaration before Congress +convened on the fourth. So if we arrive early enough we’ll be dealing +with just four men. The four men who knew about the gold, by the way.” + +“Got it,” Sammy said. “We come in, flash our heaters, and take over.” + +“Not quite so simple,” the Thinker answered. “Remember, Congress will +be gathering that morning. We can’t hope to hold our guns on these four +key figures from that time until noon. Any more than we can hope to +pass unnoticed in the crowd for such a period.” + +He paused as Sammy started to open his mouth, then hastily continued. +“I know what you’re thinking, and that won’t work either. We can’t show +up _at_ noon and just hijack the shipment. Not in front of fifty or +more men, with troops just outside the door.” + +“Then what do you figger on us doing?” + +The Thinker took a deep breath, and then he told them. + +“Oh no!” cried Sammy. + +“Me, making like John Hancock?” Mush gasped. + +“I should run around in one of them wigs like a big-shot politician?” +Nunzio scoffed. + +The Thinker was calm. “Don’t you see, it’s the only way? The wigs are +perfect disguises. Look, I’ve got pictures of all these men, and we +can buy a makeup kit. I’m fortunately bald and approximate Franklin’s +build. Physically, we’ll get by. And don’t worry about playing the role +of a politician.” + +“Yeah.” Mush was thoughtful. “After all, what’s a politician, anyhow? +Just a crook that’s learned how to kiss babies.” + +“But we won’t be kissing no babies that morning,” Sammy reminded him. +“Me, I been reading up a little on that stuff, too. Them four guys did +a lot of things on the fourth. Made speeches, tried to get the rest +of the Congress to sign, all kinds of stuff. And they knew everybody, +everybody knew them. We’d fluff it for sure, trying to do what they +did.” + +“That’s just the point.” Thinker Tomaszewski was triumphant. “We _don’t +have to do what they did!_ Because we’re going back in time, we’re +changing what happened. I think I’m familiar enough with Franklin’s +personality. I can talk if necessary. Sammy, I’ll coach you. The other +two boys can be absent, if need be--and it may well be necessary to +guard our machine and our captives in the rear room. We’re not going to +merely re-enact history. We’re going to change it, to suit ourselves. +Now do you get it?” + +They got it, eventually, because the Thinker rammed it down their +throats. + +And so they got their coaching, got their truck, got their plan, and +actually transported the machine bodily into the rear of the vehicle on +the evening arranged for departure. + +It wasn’t until they stood for the last time in the now open expanse of +the cellar that Professor Cobbett voiced a final, timid protest. + +“I hesitate to bring this up,” he said, “because you’ll very likely +suspect my motives. You’ll think it’s because you’re preempting my +property, and because you are unwittingly involving me as an accomplice +to your crime. You’ll think it’s because I have patriotic objections to +your plans for desecrating our history.” + +“Well, haven’t you?” Sammy asked. + +“Yes, I admit it.” + +Sammy glanced significantly at Nunzio, then back to the Professor as he +continued. + +“But what I have to say to you now I say in my capacity as a scientist. +In that capacity I warn you, as I did on the first evening here. +Time-travel is hazardous. The possibility of alteration of the past due +to your invasion cannot be discounted. You may well find yourselves up +against unforeseen factors, unexpected problems. That’s why I never +dared make the attempt myself; not even a journey of one minute, let +alone almost two centuries. Should you fail, I must absolve myself +of any responsibility. I shall await your return with the utmost +trepidation.” + +“Don’t bother,” Sammy told him. “We got that all figgered, too. You +plan on waiting for our return with a gang of coppers, don’t you?” + +The Professor turned pale. “Don’t tell me you gentlemen expect me to +come along?” he murmured. “I couldn’t do that. I wouldn’t. I’d--I’d be +afraid. Frankly, the dangers of dislocation or alteration in the past +frighten me worse than the prospect of death itself.” + +“I’m glad,” Sammy said slowly. “On account of it’s either--or. And you +just made up our minds for us.” + +The Thinker was already out in the truck, but Mush and Nunzio stood +beside Sammy in the cellar. Nunzio took out his heater and Mush smiled. +“Well,” he said. “Looks like we’re starting off our trip with a bang.” + + + + + IV + + +And a bang-up journey it was. There was a route to travel, and guards +to knock out and bind, and a heavy machine to cart up into the rear +chambers of Independence Hall. Then came the nerve-wracking business of +setting it up, and the Thinker’s frantic re-scanning of the Professor’s +charts and directions as he set the computers. By the time they were +ready to take off--1:45 a.m. on the dot--the transition itself was +almost an anti-climax. + +Anti-climax it proved to be. They huddled in the machine, the +vacuum-lock set and the vacuum-lined walls enclosing them, and a +generator hummed and their fluorescent light above the dials dimmed +and the Thinker pressed his finger down after endless adjustment of +tab-buttons and then-- + +Nothing happened. + +Or seemed to happen, until the moment--or century, or eternity--of +darkness elapsed. None of them were conscious of a change at all. It +was when they opened the compartment and stepped out that the change +occurred, or they were aware of its prior occurrence. + +“Thinker!” Nunzio said, blinking in the bright morning sunlight that +streamed through the high windows, “We made it!” + +Sammy and the Thinker and Mush didn’t even look at him. They were +staring at the four men on the other side of the room--four men who +stared, in turn, at them. + +Then things happened fast. Things happened with orders and heaters and +ropes and gags. Things happened with wigs and shoes and clothing. + +Four writhing figures squirmed on the floor, then calmed to quiescence +as Mush used the butt of his heater. + +“Fancy this!” he sighed. “Me knocking out old Ben Franklin hisself!” + +“Never mind fancying it now,” the Thinker told him. “We’ve got to get +ready for more action.” + +And so they’d gone into their act. + +Altering the text of the Declaration itself was an inspiration on the +Thinker’s part. “Give ’em something to argue about all morning,” he +said. “Keep them talking, then we don’t have to. And if they accept the +business about temporary governing powers and a treasurer, there’ll be +no questions asked when the gold arrives and we take charge of it.” + +He glanced at Mush and Nunzio. “You two go in the back room right now. +Watch the machine, keep the Founding Fathers company. And don’t forget +to watch the windows--maybe the gold will arrive early. Professor +Cobbett was no fool. I respect his judgment. If he said things might be +a bit different in the past because our coming changed it, maybe he’s +right.” + +“Nothing different so far,” Sammy said. + +“Well, one never knows.” + +Mush and Nunzio vanished and the Thinker turned to his companion. +“Remember your laryngitis. They call it quinsy in these times, and +that’s how I’ll refer to it. And when I do, you cough.” + +“Got it,” Sammy said. “But hey, when’s the gang showing up?” He pulled +his watch out of his pocket and studied it. “Must be after eight by +now.” He frowned. “That’s funny, it stopped. Still says seven-thirty.” + +“Let me take a look outside,” the Thinker suggested. He strode to the +window. “Crowd down there all right. But--wait a minute--” He tugged +Sammy’s arm. “Look at those soldiers!” + +“I see ’em. You mean the ones in the tall hats, with the red uniforms?” + +“Red uniforms mean British troops.” + +“British?” + +The Thinker didn’t answer. He rushed to the door of the hall, flung +it open. Two grenadiers in scarlet coats confronted him. He stared at +the white piping on the coats, stared at the silvery steel of their +bayonets. + +“Halt!” cried the taller of the two. “In the name of His Majesty.” + +“His Majesty?” + +“Yes, His Majesty, you pesky rebel.” + +“What kind of a gag is this?” Sammy muttered. + +“No gag,” the Thinker whispered. “Professor Cobbett knew. We changed +the past by coming here. The British occupy Philadelphia.” + +“Enough of your blabbing, sirrah,” the soldier shouted. “Save your +protests for General Burgoyne. When he enters the city today you and +your fellow-traitors can explain at a drum-head court martial.” + +The Thinker paled. “Changed history,” he whispered. “Burgoyne the +victor. The Congress scattered. The four men we came upon in the back +room weren’t waiting for it to meet today. They’ve been trapped here +without warning. They’re prisoners. Which means we’re prisoners, too!” + +“Oh no we ain’t!” Sammy drew out his heater and pulled the trigger. +There was an almost inaudible click. He tried to fire again, but the +Thinker slammed the door. + +“What good is that?” he murmured. “The place is surrounded.” + +“Gun jammed,” Sammy was grumbling. “Can’t figure how--” Then he +blinked. “Surrounded. And we’re stuck, huh? Now what?” + +“Obviously we get back in the machine and get out of here.” + +“But don’t you have to wait until noon, anyway?” + +“I’ll worry about that. Let’s get the boys. And hurry. Those soldiers +may decide to come in after us at any time.” + +So they retreated to the rear room and they got the boys and explained. +And in a surprisingly short time they were huddled in the time-machine +once more; huddled in the incongruous flummery of their Colonial +costumes; huddled and trembling and perspiring as the Thinker hastily +checked his data and then reached for the computer levers. + +Reached and pressed. + +Or tried to press. + +“What’s happening?” Sammy shouted, the echo of his voice almost +deafening them in the cramped confines of the metal chamber. + +“Nothing,” the Thinker groaned. “Nothing’s happening. That’s just the +trouble.” + +“It don’t work?” Nunzio wailed. + +“No. And Sammy’s watch doesn’t work, and your guns don’t work, because +all of the principles are wrong, altered the way everything is altered.” + +“Let me try!” Mush pawed at the levers, the buttons, the dials. Then +they were all clawing and scrabbling at once, and still nothing +happened. + +The Thinker stopped them. “Might as well give up,” he muttered. +“Professor Cobbett was right. We’ve changed the past.” + +“But even in seventeen seventy-six, guns and watches and machinery +worked, didn’t they?” Sammy demanded. + +“In _our_ seventeen seventy-six,” the Thinker said. “In _our_ past. But +this isn’t our past any more. It’s our present. And by making the past +the present we’ve violated a fundamental law. Or tried to. Actually, +fundamental laws can’t be violated.” + +“But we came here.” + +“Yes. Here. But here _isn’t_ our past. It couldn’t be. It would have to +be somewhere else.” + +“Where else could it be?” Mush wanted to know. + +“A place where modern mechanisms don’t work, not having been perfected +yet. A place where the British defeated the forces of the Revolution +and captured the Founding Fathers. And that could only be in--an +alternate universe.” + +“Alternate universe?” + +The Thinker was still trying to explain the concept of an alternate +universe to them when the soldiers finally came in to drag them away. + +He had time only for a final warning as the troops seized them. They +were very rough about it. + +“Remember, like Franklin said, we must all hang together,” he whispered. + +Even there the Thinker was wrong. + +They were hanged separately. + + + + +Transcriber’s Note: + + +This etext was produced from Fantastic Universe, July 1956 (Vol. 5, +No. 6). Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that the U.S. +copyright on this publication was renewed. + +Obvious errors have been silently corrected in this version, but minor +inconsistencies have been retained as printed. + + + + +*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 79007 *** diff --git a/79007-h/79007-h.htm b/79007-h/79007-h.htm new file mode 100644 index 0000000..0850c5f --- /dev/null +++ b/79007-h/79007-h.htm @@ -0,0 +1,1079 @@ +<!DOCTYPE html> +<html lang="en"> +<head> + <meta charset="UTF-8"> + <meta name="viewport" content="width=device-width, initial-scale=1"> + <title> + Founding Fathers | Project Gutenberg + </title> + <link rel="icon" href="images/cover.jpg" type="image/x-cover"> + <style> + +body { + margin-left: 10%; + margin-right: 10%; +} + +h1,h2,h3,h4,h5,h6 { + text-align: center; /* all headings centered */ + clear: both; +} + +p { + margin-top: .51em; + text-align: justify; + margin-bottom: .49em; +} + +.p2 {margin-top: 2em;} + + +hr { + width: 33%; + margin-top: 2em; + margin-bottom: 2em; + margin-left: 33.5%; + margin-right: 33.5%; + clear: both; +} + +hr.tb {width: 45%; margin-left: 27.5%; margin-right: 27.5%;} +hr.chap {width: 65%; margin-left: 17.5%; margin-right: 17.5%;} +@media print { hr.chap {display: none; visibility: hidden;} } + + +div.chapter {page-break-before: always;} +h2.nobreak {page-break-before: avoid;} + + +blockquote { + margin-top: 0; + margin-bottom: 0; + margin-left: 5%; + margin-right: 10%; +} + + +.center {text-align: center;} + + +figcaption {font-weight: bold;} +figcaption p {margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: .2em; text-align: inherit;} + +/* Images */ + +img { + max-width: 100%; + height: auto; +} + +.figcenter { + margin: auto; + text-align: center; + page-break-inside: avoid; + max-width: 100%; +} + +/* Transcriber's notes */ +.transnote {background-color: #E6E6FA; + color: black; + font-size:small; + padding:0.5em; + margin-bottom:5em; + font-family:sans-serif, serif; +} + +.f15 {font-size: 1.5em;} +img.w20 {width: 20em;} + + +/* Illustration classes */ +.illowe116_3125 {width: 116.3125em;} + </style> +</head> + +<body> +<div style='text-align:center'>*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 79007 ***</div> + + +<figure class="figcenter illowe116_3125" id="cover"> + <img class="w20" src="images/cover.jpg" alt=""> + <figcaption> + Transcribed from Fantastic Universe, July 1956 (Vol. 5, No. 6). + </figcaption> +</figure> + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"><div class="chapter"></div> +<h1> +Founding Fathers +</h1> + + +<p class="f15 center">by <strong>Robert Bloch</strong></p> + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"><div class="chapter"></div> +<blockquote> +<p><i>We doubt if anyone but Robert Bloch could dissolve what at first +appears to be an outrageous distortion of history—the Founding Fathers +in gangster roles!—into such a sunburst of dazzling humor that we find +ourselves forgiving him almost before we discover that there is nothing +to forgive. You see, the opening scene of this hilarious science +fantasy isn’t really in the least irreverent, for the astounding, +turnabout climax sets history by the ears!</i></p> + +<p class="p2"><b>If you’re determined to change history nothing can equal a time-machine. +But be warned! You may prematurely whiten your bones!</b></p> +</blockquote> + + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"><div class="chapter"></div> + + +<p>Early on the morning of July 4th, 1776, Thomas Jefferson poked his +peruked head into the deserted chamber of what was to be known as +Independence Hall and yelled, “Come on, you guys, the coast is clear!”</p> + +<p>As he stepped into the big room he was followed by John Hancock, who +puffed nervously on a cigarette.</p> + +<p>“All right,” Jefferson said. “Ditch the butt, will ya? You wanna louse +us up, creep?”</p> + +<p>“Sorry, boss.” Hancock glanced around the place, then addressed a third +man who entered behind him. “Dig this,” he murmured. “Not an ashtray in +the joint. What kind of a setup we got here anyway, Nunzio?”</p> + +<p>The third man scowled. “Don’t call me Nunzio,” he growled. “The name’s +Charles Thomson, remember?”</p> + +<p>“Okay, Chuck.”</p> + +<p>“Charles!” The third man dug John Hancock in the ribs. “Straighten that +wig of yours. Ya look like somethin’ out of a Boy Scout pageant yet.”</p> + +<p>John Hancock shrugged. “Well, whaddya expeck? Guy can’t even smoke, and +these here britches are so tight I’m scared to sit down in ’em.”</p> + +<p>Thomas Jefferson turned and confronted him. “You ain’t gonna sit down,” +he said. “All you gotta do is sign and keep your yap shut. Let Ben do +the talking, remember?”</p> + +<p>“Ben?”</p> + +<p>“Benjamin Franklin, schmoe,” said Thomas Jefferson.</p> + +<p>“Somebody mention my name?” The short fat balding man hurried into the +room, carefully adjusting square-lensed spectacles to the bridge of his +nose.</p> + +<p>“What took you so long?” Thomas Jefferson demanded. “You run into +trouble back there?”</p> + +<p>“No trouble,” Benjamin Franklin replied. “They’re out cold, and the +gags are holding. It’s just these glasses—the lenses distort my +vision. I’d forgotten I’d have to wear them.”</p> + +<p>“Can’t you ditch ’em?”</p> + +<p>“No. Somebody might get suspicious.” Franklin peered at his companions +over the tops of the spectacles. “They’re likely to get suspicious +anyway, if you don’t do what I told you.” He glanced around the room. +“What time is it?”</p> + +<p>Thomas Jefferson fumbled with the ruffles at his sleeves and gazed down +at the face of his wristwatch. “Seven-thirty,” he announced.</p> + +<p>“You’re sure?”</p> + +<p>“Checked it with Western Union.”</p> + +<p>“Never mind that Western Union talk. And take off that thing—put it in +your pocket. It’s stuff like that can get us into trouble.”</p> + +<p>“Trouble,” John Hancock groaned. “These here shoes are killin’ me. They +ain’t nearly my size.”</p> + +<p>“Well wear them and be quiet,” Benjamin Franklin told him. “I wish to +God you’d remembered to shave, too. Fine thing—the President of the +Continental Congress on the most important day of our history, coming +in without shaving.”</p> + +<p>“I forgot. Also they was no place to plug in an electric shaver.”</p> + +<p>“Well, never mind now. The main thing is just to be quiet and remember +what you’re supposed to do. Mr. Jefferson, do you have the Declaration?”</p> + +<p>Nobody answered. Franklin strode up to the tall man in the peruke. +“Jefferson, that’s you I’m talking to.”</p> + +<p>“I forgot.” The big man smiled sheepishly.</p> + +<p>“You’d better not forget. Now, where is it?”</p> + +<p>“Right here in my pocket.”</p> + +<p>“Well, get it out. We’ve got to sign right away, before anybody else +shows up. I expect they’ll start drifting in around eight at the +latest.”</p> + +<p>“Eight?” Jefferson sighed. “Do you mean to tell me they go to work that +early here?”</p> + +<p>“Our friends in the back room looked as if they’d been working all +night,” Franklin reminded him.</p> + +<p>“Ain’t they never heard of union hours?”</p> + +<p>“No, and don’t you mention it, either.” Franklin surveyed his +companions earnestly. “That goes for all of you. Watch your tongues. We +can’t afford a slip-up.”</p> + +<p>“Telling me?” Charles Thomson took the parchment from Thomas Jefferson +and unfolded it.</p> + +<p>“Careful with that,” Franklin warned.</p> + +<p>“Pipe down, will ya? I just wanna take a look at it,” Thomson replied. +“I ain’t never seen that there thing.” He glanced at the manuscript +curiously. “Hey, dig this crazy hanwriting. Its all lettering, like.”</p> + +<p>He spread the Declaration on a table and squinted down at it, mumbling +aloud.</p> + +<p>“‘When inna course a human events, it becomes nessary for one people to +dissolve the political bands which have connecked them with another, +and to assume among the powers of the earth the separate’—hey, what +kinda double-talk is this, anyway? Whyn’t these guys write English, +huh?”</p> + +<p>“Never mind.” Ben Franklin took the parchment from him and strode to +a desk. “I’m going to revise it right now.” He rummaged around in the +drawer, finding fresh parchment and a quill pen. “I’m not up to copying +the lettering style, I’m afraid, but I can explain that to the Congress +easily enough. I’ll tell them that Jefferson here made his last-minute +changes in a hurry. The hurry part of it is no lie.”</p> + +<p>He bent over the blank parchment and studied the Declaration as it +rested alongside. “Got to keep the style,” he said. “Very important. +But the main thing is to add the provisions at the end.”</p> + +<p>“Provisions?” John Hancock brightened. “We gonna have some grub, hey? +I’m starved.”</p> + +<p>“That can wait,” Jefferson snapped. “Now keep still and let the guy +work. This is the most important part of the whole caper, understand?”</p> + +<p>Then there was silence in the room—silence except for the busy +scratching of the quill pen as Benjamin Franklin wrote. Jefferson stood +over his shoulder, nodding from time to time. “Don’t forget to put in +that part about me being temporary boss,” he said. “And stick in that +we need a treasurer.”</p> + +<p>Franklin nodded impatiently. “I’ve got it all down here,” he answered. +“Nothing to worry about.”</p> + +<p>“Think they’ll sign?”</p> + +<p>“Sure they’ll sign. It’s only logical. Right after the part about being +free and independent states there should be a mention of a temporary +governing arrangement. They can’t object to that. Wonder why it was +left out in the first place.”</p> + +<p>“Search me.” Jefferson shrugged. “How would I know?”</p> + +<p>“Well, you’re supposed to have written it.”</p> + +<p>“Oh, yeah, that’s right.”</p> + +<p>Franklin finished, sat back, and poked at Jefferson’s chest with his +quill. “Cough,” he said.</p> + +<p>Jefferson coughed.</p> + +<p>“Again. Louder.”</p> + +<p>“What’s the big idea?”</p> + +<p>“You’ve got laryngitis,” Franklin told him. “A bad case. That’s why +you’re not talking. Anybody asks you any questions, you just cough. +Right?”</p> + +<p>“Okay. I didn’t want to talk anyway.”</p> + +<p>Franklin gazed at Hancock and Thomson. “You two better sign and +disappear. When the gang arrives, you go in the back room and keep +an eye on our buddies there. I’ll make up some excuse why you’re not +around—can’t take the risk of having you cornered and questioned. Got +it?”</p> + +<p>The two men nodded. Franklin extended the quill pen. “Here. You two are +supposed to sign first.” As John Hancock reached for the pen, Franklin +chuckled. “Just put your John Hancock right here.”</p> + +<p>Hancock signed with a flourish. He gave the pen to Charles Thomson.</p> + +<p>“Remember, you’re the secretary,” Franklin said, as Thomson dipped the +quill in the inkwell. “What’s the matter, that quill too clumsy for +you?”</p> + +<p>“Sure it’s clumsy,” Thomson said. “And these clothes are murder. +And none of us guys knows how to talk. We can’t get away with this, +Thinker. We’re gonna make mistakes.”</p> + +<p>Benjamin Franklin stood up. “We’re going to make history,” he declared. +“Just follow orders and everything will be all right.” He paused +and lifted his hand. “In the immortal words of myself—Benjamin +Franklin—we must all hang together, or assuredly we shall all hang +separately.”</p> + + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> +<div class="chapter"> + <h2 class="nobreak" id="II"> + II + </h2> +</div> + + +<p>They had hung together for a long time in Philly—Sammy, Nunzio, Mush +and Thinker Tomaszewski. They shoved a little queer, peddled a few +decks, but mostly they made book.</p> + +<p>It was a nice setup for all of them, particularly since the Thinker +came into the deal. The Thinker was a genuine shyster, with a degree +and an office and everything, and he fronted for the outfit. The funny +part of it was, Thinker Tomaszewski had a regular law practice too, +and he could have made a pretty nice piece of change without cutting +corners.</p> + +<p>But he worked with them for kicks, at first.</p> + +<p>“The only way I can explain it,” he told them, “is that I don’t seem +to have a super-ego.” Always with the two-dollar words, that was the +Thinker.</p> + +<p>And it was his two-dollar words that finally got them into trouble. In +the beginning, everything was fine. Using his law office as a front, +he had no difficulty in getting acquainted with a better class of +mark—not the two-bucks-on-the-nose working stiff, but heavy bettors. +He steered them to Sammy or Nunzio or Mush, and they made a big book.</p> + +<p>They made a big buck, too. So big that they just had to place a few +bets of their own, with some of the top wheels like Mickey Tarantino. +Playing it smart, of course, and working only on inside tips, when they +were sure of a horse getting the needle.</p> + +<hr class="tb"> + +<p>Came an afternoon when the needle stuck. And they were stuck for twenty +grand. Mickey Tarantino held out his hand and smiled. But the smile +vanished when Sammy went to him and said he needed time to pay up.</p> + +<p>“Whaddya mean?” Mr. Tarantino had inquired. “You guys are loaded. Look +at all the rich suckers you make book with.”</p> + +<p>“All we got to show for it is markers,” Sammy confessed. “It’s like +your old man’s delicatessen. The poor guys pay and the highclass trade +puts it on the cuff. You know how those big operators work. Well, it’s +the same in our line. You can’t collect from them.”</p> + +<p>“You damn well better colleck,” Mr. Tarantino advised. “Because you +got until tomorrow morning. Or elst you wind up in Plotter’s Field, or +wherever.”</p> + +<p>So Sammy went away and called a meeting at Thinker Tomaszewski’s office +and broke the news.</p> + +<p>Thinker had news for them too. “Tarantino isn’t the only one who thinks +we’re rolling in the stuff,” he announced. “Uncle Sam is looking down +our throats for a little matter of back income taxes.”</p> + +<p>“Great!” Sammy groaned. “Tarantino’s hoods in front of us and the +Federal finks behind us. Which way do we turn?”</p> + +<p>“I suggest you turn to our clients,” Thinker answered. “Call on some of +our investors and ask them to redeem their markers.”</p> + +<p>So Sammy and Nunzio and Mush called. And early that evening they +assembled and pooled results.</p> + +<p>“Three grand!” Sammy snorted. “Three lousy grand!”</p> + +<p>“Is that all?” The Thinker was genuinely mystified. “I should have +thought you’d get more than that.”</p> + +<p>“Sure we got more. Excuses we got, promises we got, brush-offs we got. +But here’s the moola. Three grand, period.”</p> + +<p>“How about Cobbett?” Thinker asked.</p> + +<p>“Professor Cobbett? He’s your baby, isn’t he?”</p> + +<p>The Thinker nodded. Professor Cobbett was indeed his baby. One of the +upper crust.</p> + +<p>“What’s he into us for?” Sammy demanded.</p> + +<p>“About eight, I think.”</p> + +<p>“Eight and three is eleven. Not so hot. But if we could get it fast, +maybe Tarantino would hold off for a while.”</p> + +<p>“Let’s get it fast,” Mush suggested. “Let’s go out and see old Cobbett +right now.”</p> + +<p>So they all piled into Sammy’s car and went out to see old Cobbett. The +Professor had a country place—a nice layout for a man who lived all +alone—and he was cordial and pleasant when he greeted the Thinker on +the front porch.</p> + +<p>He was not quite so cordial or pleasant when he learned what the +Thinker wanted, and he was downright inhospitable when the Thinker +beckoned and his three companions appeared out of the darkness.</p> + +<p>They had to stick their feet in the door and they had to stick their +heaters in his ribs.</p> + +<p>“No foolin’,” Nunzio told him. “We want our loot.”</p> + +<p>“Oh dear!” said Professor Cobbett, as they marched him backwards into +his own parlor. “But I have no money.”</p> + +<p>“Don’t con us,” Mush told him. “Look at this joint, all this fancy +furniture.”</p> + +<p>“Mortgaged,” the Professor sighed. “Mortgaged to the hilt, and past it.”</p> + +<p>“What about this here school where you teach at?” Mush asked. “You +could maybe brace them for some advance dough on your salary, huh?”</p> + +<p>“I am no longer connected with the university.”</p> + +<p>“What gives here?” Sammy wanted to know.</p> + +<p>“Yes,” Thinker added. “I thought you were a wealthy man.”</p> + +<p>The Professor shrugged and ran his hand through his graying hair. +“Things are not always what they seem,” he said. “For example, +I considered you to be a reputable professional man. And when I +innocently inquired about the possibilities of placing a small bet on +the races, I never dreamed you were associated with these ruffians.”</p> + +<p>“Watch that talk,” Sammy warned. “We ain’t no more ruffians than eight +grand is a small bet. Now whaddya mean about things ain’t always what +they seem?”</p> + +<p>“Well, it’s like this,” the Professor answered. “I did have a certain +sum of money set aside—yes. And I did have a position of some eminence +at the university. The fact that both money and position are gone today +can be attributed to one thing—my private research project.</p> + +<p>“The cost of experimental models reduced my savings. The revelation of +my theories cost me my faculty position. An attempt to raise funds to +continue my work led me to the last resort—betting on the races. Now I +have nothing.”</p> + +<p>“You can say that again,” Sammy told him. “In about three minutes +you’re gonna have nothing with lace around it.”</p> + +<p>“Wait a moment,” the Thinker interrupted. “Experimental models, you +said. What have you been building?”</p> + +<p>“I’ll show you, if you like.”</p> + +<p>“Come on,” Sammy ordered. “Boys, keep the heaters warm, in case he +pulls a funny.”</p> + +<p>But the Professor didn’t pull a funny. He led them downstairs to what +had been the basement, and was now an ornate private laboratory. He led +them up to the large rectangular metal structure, covered with coils +and tubing. It had a vague resemblance to an outhouse designed by Frank +Lloyd Wright.</p> + +<p>“Jeez,” Nunzio commented. “Whatchoo doin’, buildin’ one of them there +Frankensteens?”</p> + +<p>“I bet it’s a space-ship,” Mush hazarded. “Was you gonna make a getaway +to Mars?”</p> + +<p>“Please,” the Professor sighed. “You’re making sport of me.”</p> + +<p>“We’re making hamburger of you in another minute,” Sammy corrected him. +“This doojigger ain’t no use to us. Couldn’t get twenny bucks for it at +a junk-yard.”</p> + +<p>Thinker Tomaszewski shook his head. “Just what is this object, +Professor?”</p> + +<p>Professor Cobbett blushed. “I hesitate to designate it as such, after +the rebuffs I received at the hands of supposed authorities, but there +is no other intelligible term for it. It is a time-machine.”</p> + +<p>“Oof!” Sammy put his hand to his forehead. “And this is what we let get +into us for eight grand. A nutty scientist, yet!”</p> + +<p>The Thinker frowned at him. “A time-machine, you say? An instrument +capable of transporting one forward or backwards in time?”</p> + +<p>“Backwards only,” the Professor answered. “Forward travel is manifestly +impossible, since the future is non-existent. And travel is not the +best word. Transit more closely approximates the meaning, insofar as +time possesses no material or spatial characteristics, being bound to +a three-dimensional universe by the single observable phenomenon which +manifests itself as duration. Now if duration is designated as X, and—”</p> + +<p>“Shuddup!” Nunzio suggested. “Let’s kiss off this joker and scram outta +here. We’re wastin’ time.”</p> + +<p>“Wasting time.” The Thinker nodded. “Professor Cobbett, is this a +working model?”</p> + +<p>“I’m practically positive. It has never been tested. But I can show you +formulae which—”</p> + +<p>“Never mind that now. Why haven’t you tested it?”</p> + +<p>“Because I’m not sure of the past. Or rather, our present relationship +to it. If any person or object in present time were sent to the +past, alterations would occur. What is here now would be absent, and +something added to what was there, then. This addition would alter +the past. And if the past were altered, then it would not be the +<i>same</i> past we know.” He frowned. “It’s hard to state without +recourse to symbolic logic.”</p> + +<p>“You mean you’re afraid that by time-travel you’d change the past? +Or come out in a different past—a past <i>made</i> different +<i>because</i> you traveled into it?”</p> + +<p>“That’s an over-simplification, but you have the general idea.”</p> + +<p>“Then what good is your work on this?”</p> + +<p>“No good, I’m afraid. But I wanted to prove a point. It became an +almost monomaniacal obsession. I have no excuses.”</p> + +<p>“So.” Sammy stepped forward. “Thanks for the lecture, but like you say, +you got no excuses. And we got no time. This here basement looks like a +nice soundproof place for target practice—”</p> + +<p>The Thinker grabbed Sammy’s arm. “What’s the sense?” he asked.</p> + +<p>“The guy welshed.”</p> + +<p>“So he welshed. Will murder change that? Will murder help us now?”</p> + +<p>“No.” Sammy bit his lip. “But what we gonna do? We got no dough. We got +Tarantino after us, and also the govmint. We can’t go back to town.”</p> + +<p>The Thinker looked around. “Why not stay here, then? We’re safe, +isolated, with a nice big roof over our heads. Let’s enjoy the +Professor’s hospitality for a while.”</p> + +<p>“Yeah,” Mush said. “But how long? We’re gonna run out of dough, or +food, or somethin’. We’d just be stallin’ for time.”</p> + +<p>The Thinker smiled. “Stalling for time.” He gazed intently at the +complicated structure in the center of the cellar. “But here is the +logical vehicle for a getaway.”</p> + +<p>“You mean jump in that dizzy outfit and beat it?” Sammy demanded. +“You’re kidding.”</p> + +<p>“I’m serious,” the Thinker replied. “Some time in the near future we’ll +be safe in the past.”</p> + + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> +<div class="chapter"> + <h2 class="nobreak" id="III"> + III + </h2> +</div> + + +<p>It took a lot of figuring. That was the Thinker’s job, working with the +Professor during the next few days.</p> + +<p>“How do you set the controls up? Is this for steering?”</p> + +<p>“You do not steer—you press the computers. Here, I’ll show you again.”</p> + +<p>“And you can choose any time in the past, any time at all?” asked the +Thinker.</p> + +<p>“Theoretically. The main problem is accurate computation. Remember, we +and our earth are not static. We do not occupy the same position in +space that we did an instant ago, let alone a longer period. We must +consider the speed of light, planetary motion, inclination, and—”</p> + +<p>“That’s going to be your department. But you can establish past +position mathematically and set up a guiding-plan for the computers +accordingly?”</p> + +<p>“I’m reasonably certain of it.”</p> + +<p>“Then all that remains is to determine where—or rather, <i>when</i> +we’re going to.”</p> + +<p>Sammy and Nunzio and Mush tackled <i>that</i> problem on their own.</p> + +<p>“Jeez, mebbe alls we gotta do is go back a couple weeks to before when +the Professor made his bets. Then we ain’t out no dough.”</p> + +<p>“Yeah? What about them there back taxes?”</p> + +<p>“So we go to before when we owed ’em.”</p> + +<p>“That’s when we went into business, stupid. We was broke.”</p> + +<p>“Well, if we can go anywheres we want in time, how’s about way back, +to the Egypians, like? I seen one of them there pitchers, they had all +these hot broads runnin’ around in their unnerwear—”</p> + +<p>“You talk Egypian, stupid? Besides, we don’t wanna stay back someplace +forever. Way I figger, we go to some time where we can lay our mitts on +some loot, real fast-like. And then come back.”</p> + +<p>“Now you got it. That’s the angle. Hey, how about that there Gold Rush?”</p> + +<p>The Professor interrupted them. “I’m afraid the Gold Rush wouldn’t +be of much use to you gentlemen. After all, it occurred in the year +eighteen hundred and forty-nine.”</p> + +<p>“But you can send us to eighteen forty-nine, can’t you?”</p> + +<p>“Conceivably, if my theory is correct. But you would not be in +California. You would still be right here in Philadelphia, in the field +which stood here before this house was built.”</p> + +<p>“Then we gotta find our loot in Philly, huh? Somewheres in the past?”</p> + +<p>“I’m afraid so.”</p> + +<p>“Jeez. And we can’t show up in no vacant field with that machine, +either.”</p> + +<p>Then the Thinker took over. “I am beginning to pinpoint our problem,” +he announced. “Professor, I am going to utilize your library for a day +or so. Perhaps I can discover when gold was available in Philadelphia.”</p> + +<p>“There’s always the Mint.”</p> + +<p>“Too well-guarded. We’d never be able to loot it, any more than it +could have been looted by past efforts.”</p> + +<p>“Banks?” Sammy brightened. “With our heaters, we could knock over one +of them big jugs easy—say, a hunnert years ago.”</p> + +<p>“And come out with what? Oldfashioned greenbacks? We wouldn’t be able +to use currency of that era today. Arouse suspicion. No, I’m looking +for gold.”</p> + +<p>Finally, in a copy of Berkeley’s <i>History of the Revolution</i>, the +Thinker found it. He broke in upon the others as they sat guarding +Professor Cobbett.</p> + +<p>“Here’s the answer!” he exulted. “Remember what happened in +Philadelphia on July fourth, seventeen seventy-six?”</p> + +<p>“That’s a holiday, ain’t it?” Nunzio brightened. “Must be the Phillies +took on the Giants in a double-header.”</p> + +<p>“Seventeen seventy-six stupid!” Sammy scowled. “Yeah, I remember. They +made Washington the President.”</p> + +<p>“Nah. It was the Decoration of Indepenence,” Mush corrected.</p> + +<p>“Right. The Declaration of Independence was presented to the +Continental Congress assembled at what is now Independence Hall. And +so forth. But here’s another little-known fact. At the same place, on +the same day, the Revolutionary treasury was turned over to a small +group for temporary storage. It consisted of upwards of thirty thousand +pounds sterling in smelted ingots. That’s about a hundred and fifty +thousand dollars in gold.”</p> + +<hr class="tb"> + +<p>“Brother!” Sammy whistled. “What a way to celebrate the Fourth!” Then +he frowned. “I’ll bet they had plenny guards around.”</p> + +<p>“No, that’s just the point. It was all a secret—few people know of it +to this day. Troops brought it in a wagon, around noon. They thought +they were hauling documents. It was carted upstairs, and no guards +were posted lest suspicion be aroused. Its presence was known only to +Benjamin Franklin, Thomas Jefferson, and one or two others—probably +John Hancock and maybe Charles Thomson, the Secretary of the Congress. +It was to be used to pay troops and buy supplies.”</p> + +<p>“It sure could help to pay off old Mickey Tarantino and the Feds. And +leave us plenny to spare.”</p> + +<p>“That is exactly what I had in mind, gentlemen.” The Thinker smiled. +“Now all that remains is to work out the details. I shall concentrate +on the historical aspect and the Professor here can work out the +mathematical computations.”</p> + +<p>Professor Cobbett blanched. “Mathematical computations? But you’re +asking the impossible. Why, that was over a hundred and eighty +light-years ago; we’ll be faced with the problem of billion-fold +magnitudes, and the slightest error or variation can have serious +consequences.”</p> + +<p>“Ain’t gonna be no errors,” Sammy told him. “Or consequences will be +really serious. <i>For you.</i>” He showed the Professor his heater. +“Now get to work. We’re going places.”</p> + +<p>“Going places.” Mush looked at him. “All this here stuff was at +Indepenence Hall. The machine’s here in the cellar. We gonna come out +on July fourth inna cow-pasture or somethin’?”</p> + +<p>“That’s your job,” Sammy decided. “Case this joint. See how it’s set +up for guards at night. Alarm-system, the works. Look it over like you +would a bank job. I think we can take over. Nobody’s gonna think a mob +would break into a Hysterical Shrine or whatever. We get things set, we +hire us a truck and cart the machine right down to the Hall and take +off from there some night soon. Right?”</p> + +<p>“Hey, that’s a tough deal.”</p> + +<p>“Things are tough all over,” Sammy said. “Now get going.”</p> + +<p>So Mush got going and the Professor got going and the Thinker got going +too. And before the first week was up they were organized.</p> + +<p>Mush made his report. The invasion of Independence Hall could be made +without too much trouble. Of course it would cost money for the truck, +and there might be repercussions, but they could try to pull it off.</p> + +<p>And in view of their present hopeless situation—and in view of the +possible gain—it was worth the gamble, Sammy decided.</p> + +<p>The Professor presented them with the working manual, based on his +computations.</p> + +<p>“Are you sure this gets us there?” Sammy demanded. “And back, too?”</p> + +<p>“Look it over,” the Professor said. “See for yourself.”</p> + +<p>“It’s all right,” the Thinker told him. “I’ve checked it. See, we have +no set time for return. Our plans call for us to get the gold and come +back as soon after the noon hour as possible. So the Professor has +worked out return-variations based on five-minute intervals throughout +the early afternoon. It’s as foolproof as we can hope to make it.”</p> + +<p>“All right, if you say so.” Sammy shrugged. “But what I want to know +is, what do we do when we get there?”</p> + +<p>“I’ve been working on that angle,” the Thinker said. “Checking all the +source books and references I could muster. History texts. Biographical +data on Franklin and Jefferson in particular. And I’ve got a plan. +Apparently the first ones to arrive that morning were Jefferson and +Thomson. Franklin and John Hancock came in early too.</p> + +<p>“It’s not quite clear whether any of them spent part of the night +there. The important thing is that the four men conceivably held an +early morning meeting, discussing the Declaration before Congress +convened on the fourth. So if we arrive early enough we’ll be dealing +with just four men. The four men who knew about the gold, by the way.”</p> + +<p>“Got it,” Sammy said. “We come in, flash our heaters, and take over.”</p> + +<p>“Not quite so simple,” the Thinker answered. “Remember, Congress will +be gathering that morning. We can’t hope to hold our guns on these four +key figures from that time until noon. Any more than we can hope to +pass unnoticed in the crowd for such a period.”</p> + +<p>He paused as Sammy started to open his mouth, then hastily continued. +“I know what you’re thinking, and that won’t work either. We can’t show +up <i>at</i> noon and just hijack the shipment. Not in front of fifty +or more men, with troops just outside the door.”</p> + +<p>“Then what do you figger on us doing?”</p> + +<p>The Thinker took a deep breath, and then he told them.</p> + +<p>“Oh no!” cried Sammy.</p> + +<p>“Me, making like John Hancock?” Mush gasped.</p> + +<p>“I should run around in one of them wigs like a big-shot politician?” +Nunzio scoffed.</p> + +<p>The Thinker was calm. “Don’t you see, it’s the only way? The wigs are +perfect disguises. Look, I’ve got pictures of all these men, and we +can buy a makeup kit. I’m fortunately bald and approximate Franklin’s +build. Physically, we’ll get by. And don’t worry about playing the role +of a politician.”</p> + +<p>“Yeah.” Mush was thoughtful. “After all, what’s a politician, anyhow? +Just a crook that’s learned how to kiss babies.”</p> + +<p>“But we won’t be kissing no babies that morning,” Sammy reminded him. +“Me, I been reading up a little on that stuff, too. Them four guys did +a lot of things on the fourth. Made speeches, tried to get the rest +of the Congress to sign, all kinds of stuff. And they knew everybody, +everybody knew them. We’d fluff it for sure, trying to do what they +did.”</p> + +<p>“That’s just the point.” Thinker Tomaszewski was triumphant. “We +<i>don’t have to do what they did!</i> Because we’re going back in +time, we’re changing what happened. I think I’m familiar enough with +Franklin’s personality. I can talk if necessary. Sammy, I’ll coach +you. The other two boys can be absent, if need be—and it may well be +necessary to guard our machine and our captives in the rear room. We’re +not going to merely re-enact history. We’re going to change it, to suit +ourselves. Now do you get it?”</p> + +<p>They got it, eventually, because the Thinker rammed it down their +throats.</p> + +<p>And so they got their coaching, got their truck, got their plan, and +actually transported the machine bodily into the rear of the vehicle on +the evening arranged for departure.</p> + +<p>It wasn’t until they stood for the last time in the now open expanse of +the cellar that Professor Cobbett voiced a final, timid protest.</p> + +<p>“I hesitate to bring this up,” he said, “because you’ll very likely +suspect my motives. You’ll think it’s because you’re preempting my +property, and because you are unwittingly involving me as an accomplice +to your crime. You’ll think it’s because I have patriotic objections to +your plans for desecrating our history.”</p> + +<p>“Well, haven’t you?” Sammy asked.</p> + +<p>“Yes, I admit it.”</p> + +<p>Sammy glanced significantly at Nunzio, then back to the Professor as he +continued.</p> + +<p>“But what I have to say to you now I say in my capacity as a scientist. +In that capacity I warn you, as I did on the first evening here. +Time-travel is hazardous. The possibility of alteration of the past due +to your invasion cannot be discounted. You may well find yourselves up +against unforeseen factors, unexpected problems. That’s why I never +dared make the attempt myself; not even a journey of one minute, let +alone almost two centuries. Should you fail, I must absolve myself +of any responsibility. I shall await your return with the utmost +trepidation.”</p> + +<p>“Don’t bother,” Sammy told him. “We got that all figgered, too. You +plan on waiting for our return with a gang of coppers, don’t you?”</p> + +<p>The Professor turned pale. “Don’t tell me you gentlemen expect me to +come along?” he murmured. “I couldn’t do that. I wouldn’t. I’d—I’d be +afraid. Frankly, the dangers of dislocation or alteration in the past +frighten me worse than the prospect of death itself.”</p> + +<p>“I’m glad,” Sammy said slowly. “On account of it’s either—or. And you +just made up our minds for us.”</p> + +<p>The Thinker was already out in the truck, but Mush and Nunzio stood +beside Sammy in the cellar. Nunzio took out his heater and Mush smiled. +“Well,” he said. “Looks like we’re starting off our trip with a bang.”</p> + + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> +<div class="chapter"> + <h2 class="nobreak" id="IV"> + IV + </h2> +</div> + + +<p>And a bang-up journey it was. There was a route to travel, and guards +to knock out and bind, and a heavy machine to cart up into the rear +chambers of Independence Hall. Then came the nerve-wracking business of +setting it up, and the Thinker’s frantic re-scanning of the Professor’s +charts and directions as he set the computers. By the time they were +ready to take off—1:45 a.m. on the dot—the transition itself was +almost an anti-climax.</p> + +<p>Anti-climax it proved to be. They huddled in the machine, the +vacuum-lock set and the vacuum-lined walls enclosing them, and a +generator hummed and their fluorescent light above the dials dimmed +and the Thinker pressed his finger down after endless adjustment of +tab-buttons and then—</p> + +<p>Nothing happened.</p> + +<p>Or seemed to happen, until the moment—or century, or eternity—of +darkness elapsed. None of them were conscious of a change at all. It +was when they opened the compartment and stepped out that the change +occurred, or they were aware of its prior occurrence.</p> + +<p>“Thinker!” Nunzio said, blinking in the bright morning sunlight that +streamed through the high windows, “We made it!”</p> + +<p>Sammy and the Thinker and Mush didn’t even look at him. They were +staring at the four men on the other side of the room—four men who +stared, in turn, at them.</p> + +<p>Then things happened fast. Things happened with orders and heaters and +ropes and gags. Things happened with wigs and shoes and clothing.</p> + +<p>Four writhing figures squirmed on the floor, then calmed to quiescence +as Mush used the butt of his heater.</p> + +<p>“Fancy this!” he sighed. “Me knocking out old Ben Franklin hisself!”</p> + +<p>“Never mind fancying it now,” the Thinker told him. “We’ve got to get +ready for more action.”</p> + +<p>And so they’d gone into their act.</p> + +<p>Altering the text of the Declaration itself was an inspiration on the +Thinker’s part. “Give ’em something to argue about all morning,” he +said. “Keep them talking, then we don’t have to. And if they accept the +business about temporary governing powers and a treasurer, there’ll be +no questions asked when the gold arrives and we take charge of it.”</p> + +<p>He glanced at Mush and Nunzio. “You two go in the back room right now. +Watch the machine, keep the Founding Fathers company. And don’t forget +to watch the windows—maybe the gold will arrive early. Professor +Cobbett was no fool. I respect his judgment. If he said things might be +a bit different in the past because our coming changed it, maybe he’s +right.”</p> + +<p>“Nothing different so far,” Sammy said.</p> + +<p>“Well, one never knows.”</p> + +<p>Mush and Nunzio vanished and the Thinker turned to his companion. +“Remember your laryngitis. They call it quinsy in these times, and +that’s how I’ll refer to it. And when I do, you cough.”</p> + +<p>“Got it,” Sammy said. “But hey, when’s the gang showing up?” He pulled +his watch out of his pocket and studied it. “Must be after eight by +now.” He frowned. “That’s funny, it stopped. Still says seven-thirty.”</p> + +<p>“Let me take a look outside,” the Thinker suggested. He strode to the +window. “Crowd down there all right. But—wait a minute—” He tugged +Sammy’s arm. “Look at those soldiers!”</p> + +<p>“I see ’em. You mean the ones in the tall hats, with the red uniforms?”</p> + +<p>“Red uniforms mean British troops.”</p> + +<p>“British?”</p> + +<p>The Thinker didn’t answer. He rushed to the door of the hall, flung +it open. Two grenadiers in scarlet coats confronted him. He stared at +the white piping on the coats, stared at the silvery steel of their +bayonets.</p> + +<p>“Halt!” cried the taller of the two. “In the name of His Majesty.”</p> + +<p>“His Majesty?”</p> + +<p>“Yes, His Majesty, you pesky rebel.”</p> + +<p>“What kind of a gag is this?” Sammy muttered.</p> + +<p>“No gag,” the Thinker whispered. “Professor Cobbett knew. We changed +the past by coming here. The British occupy Philadelphia.”</p> + +<p>“Enough of your blabbing, sirrah,” the soldier shouted. “Save your +protests for General Burgoyne. When he enters the city today you and +your fellow-traitors can explain at a drum-head court martial.”</p> + +<p>The Thinker paled. “Changed history,” he whispered. “Burgoyne the +victor. The Congress scattered. The four men we came upon in the back +room weren’t waiting for it to meet today. They’ve been trapped here +without warning. They’re prisoners. Which means we’re prisoners, too!”</p> + +<p>“Oh no we ain’t!” Sammy drew out his heater and pulled the trigger. +There was an almost inaudible click. He tried to fire again, but the +Thinker slammed the door.</p> + +<p>“What good is that?” he murmured. “The place is surrounded.”</p> + +<p>“Gun jammed,” Sammy was grumbling. “Can’t figure how—” Then he +blinked. “Surrounded. And we’re stuck, huh? Now what?”</p> + +<p>“Obviously we get back in the machine and get out of here.”</p> + +<p>“But don’t you have to wait until noon, anyway?”</p> + +<p>“I’ll worry about that. Let’s get the boys. And hurry. Those soldiers +may decide to come in after us at any time.”</p> + +<p>So they retreated to the rear room and they got the boys and explained. +And in a surprisingly short time they were huddled in the time-machine +once more; huddled in the incongruous flummery of their Colonial +costumes; huddled and trembling and perspiring as the Thinker hastily +checked his data and then reached for the computer levers.</p> + +<p>Reached and pressed.</p> + +<p>Or tried to press.</p> + +<p>“What’s happening?” Sammy shouted, the echo of his voice almost +deafening them in the cramped confines of the metal chamber.</p> + +<p>“Nothing,” the Thinker groaned. “Nothing’s happening. That’s just the +trouble.”</p> + +<p>“It don’t work?” Nunzio wailed.</p> + +<p>“No. And Sammy’s watch doesn’t work, and your guns don’t work, because +all of the principles are wrong, altered the way everything is altered.”</p> + +<p>“Let me try!” Mush pawed at the levers, the buttons, the dials. Then +they were all clawing and scrabbling at once, and still nothing +happened.</p> + +<p>The Thinker stopped them. “Might as well give up,” he muttered. +“Professor Cobbett was right. We’ve changed the past.”</p> + +<p>“But even in seventeen seventy-six, guns and watches and machinery +worked, didn’t they?” Sammy demanded.</p> + +<p>“In <i>our</i> seventeen seventy-six,” the Thinker said. “In <i>our</i> +past. But this isn’t our past any more. It’s our present. And by making +the past the present we’ve violated a fundamental law. Or tried to. +Actually, fundamental laws can’t be violated.”</p> + +<p>“But we came here.”</p> + +<p>“Yes. Here. But here <i>isn’t</i> our past. It couldn’t be. It would +have to be somewhere else.”</p> + +<p>“Where else could it be?” Mush wanted to know.</p> + +<p>“A place where modern mechanisms don’t work, not having been perfected +yet. A place where the British defeated the forces of the Revolution +and captured the Founding Fathers. And that could only be in—an +alternate universe.”</p> + +<p>“Alternate universe?”</p> + +<p>The Thinker was still trying to explain the concept of an alternate +universe to them when the soldiers finally came in to drag them away.</p> + +<p>He had time only for a final warning as the troops seized them. They +were very rough about it.</p> + +<p>“Remember, like Franklin said, we must all hang together,” he whispered.</p> + +<p>Even there the Thinker was wrong.</p> + +<p>They were hanged separately.</p> + + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> +<div class="chapter"></div><div class="transnote"> + <h2 class="nobreak" id="Transcribers_Note"> + Transcriber’s Note: + </h2> + +<p>This etext was produced from Fantastic Universe, July 1956 (Vol. 5, +No. 6). Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that the U.S. +copyright on this publication was renewed.</p> + +<p>Obvious errors have been silently corrected in this version, but minor +inconsistencies have been retained as printed.</p> +</div> +<div style='text-align:center'>*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 79007 ***</div> +</body> +</html> diff --git a/79007-h/images/cover.jpg b/79007-h/images/cover.jpg Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..f9d1bdd --- /dev/null +++ b/79007-h/images/cover.jpg diff --git a/LICENSE.txt b/LICENSE.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..6c72794 --- /dev/null +++ b/LICENSE.txt @@ -0,0 +1,11 @@ +This book, including all associated images, markup, improvements, +metadata, and any other content or labor, has been confirmed to be +in the PUBLIC DOMAIN IN THE UNITED STATES. + +Procedures for determining public domain status are described in +the "Copyright How-To" at https://www.gutenberg.org. + +No investigation has been made concerning possible copyrights in +jurisdictions other than the United States. 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