Read Online From Time to Time by Jack Finney - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Jack Finney
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did it . . ." Rube w'as slowly standing, his face turning red. "Oh, that son of a bitch. He did it!
"Who?
"Why . . . Marley? Morley! Simon Morley! We sent him back, didn't we? Into the nineteenth century on a . . . mission. And he did this!
"Did what?
"Why . . . I don't know. He stood looking helplessly at McNaughton. "Something. Did something, back in the past, so that
Danziger was never born. No Project now. And never was.
He sat down, and the two men stared at the deserted street ahead. Then Rube said, "John, what keeps you here in this nothing place?
"Mv job. Part-time mechanic. At subscale pay. And the cheapest room this side of Calcutta.
"You ever do any fighting? Boxing, I mean?
"Sonic. In the Army.
"Heavyweight?
"Mostly. I pared down to light-heavy once, but I was young and could do it. Won easy. A supply sergeant, and soft. We showed the same on the scales but I outweighed him in the bones.
"Pretty good, were you?
"Not bad. Won more than I lost, but I lost some too. Knocked out twice, and I quit. Wanted to keep what brains I got.
"You ever kill anybody?
"Never actually did. I was going to once but the situation changed. I would have done it, though. I had it all thought out.
"This in the Army?
"Yeah. But he got promoted, and transferred. Lucky for him. And me too, no doubt.
"Is there anything you wouldn't do, John, to get back? To the other Winfield?
"Nothing. There is nothing I wouldn't do.
"Do you know how Simon Morley got back to the nineteenth century?
"He was tutored. Learned all about it, got the feel of it. Then used the Dakota as his Gateway.
"The Dakota?
"A New York apartment building. It was there in the nineteenth century, and it's there today. The Project furnished an apartment in the Dakota, got him the right wardrobe, made it a Gateway-
"Could you do it? Get back there where Morley is?
"Sure. He grinned. "If you can do the thing, you can do it, Major. That your car up the street, the Toyota? Rube nodded. "Looks a little snug for me.
"They fit the Japanese, John.
"I'll manage. He stood up, inches taller than Rube. "Run me over to my place. Give me five minutes to pack my stuff. Three, if I hurry. And I'll hurry. Believe me, I'll hurry.
CHAPTER 5
ALTHOUGH THIS WAS WINTER and well after dark, the air wetly cold, a man sat on a Central Park bench near Fifth Avenue, watching the path to his left. The light from a streetlamp just touched him, a dark motionless lump. The turned-up collar of his overcoat covered his chin, his cap pulled low over his forehead. Hands pushed into the overcoat pockets, he watched the path, and when he saw the man he was waiting for walking quickly toward him- Right on time, he said to himself-he lowered his face,and sat staring down at the path apparently in thought.
The man walked by; he was wearing an ankle-length dark overcoat and a brown fur cap, and when he'd walked on a dozen steps, the seated man stood up-tall now-and followed Simon Morley.
I walked out onto Fifth Avenue, a light delivery wagon rattled slowly by, the horse tired, his neck slumped, a kerosene lantern swaying under the rear axle. On the walk a woman in a feathered black hat, a fur cape over her shoulders, walked by, holding her long dark skirt an inch above the wet paving stones.
I turned south, down narrow, quiet residential Fifth Avenue (the tall man, twenty yards behind him, turned too), glancing into yellow-lighted windows as I walked, catching glimpses: of a bald bearded man reading a newspaper, the light from a fireplace I couldn't see reflected redly on the windowpane; of a white-a proned, white-capped maid passing through a room; of a month-old Christmas tree, a woman touching a lighted taper to its candles for the pleasure of the five-year-old boy beside her. north on Broadway from Madison Square, I walked along the IRialto, the theatrical section of New York when Broadway was Broadway. The street was jammed with newly washed and polished carriages. The sidewalks were
"Who?
"Why . . . Marley? Morley! Simon Morley! We sent him back, didn't we? Into the nineteenth century on a . . . mission. And he did this!
"Did what?
"Why . . . I don't know. He stood looking helplessly at McNaughton. "Something. Did something, back in the past, so that
Danziger was never born. No Project now. And never was.
He sat down, and the two men stared at the deserted street ahead. Then Rube said, "John, what keeps you here in this nothing place?
"Mv job. Part-time mechanic. At subscale pay. And the cheapest room this side of Calcutta.
"You ever do any fighting? Boxing, I mean?
"Sonic. In the Army.
"Heavyweight?
"Mostly. I pared down to light-heavy once, but I was young and could do it. Won easy. A supply sergeant, and soft. We showed the same on the scales but I outweighed him in the bones.
"Pretty good, were you?
"Not bad. Won more than I lost, but I lost some too. Knocked out twice, and I quit. Wanted to keep what brains I got.
"You ever kill anybody?
"Never actually did. I was going to once but the situation changed. I would have done it, though. I had it all thought out.
"This in the Army?
"Yeah. But he got promoted, and transferred. Lucky for him. And me too, no doubt.
"Is there anything you wouldn't do, John, to get back? To the other Winfield?
"Nothing. There is nothing I wouldn't do.
"Do you know how Simon Morley got back to the nineteenth century?
"He was tutored. Learned all about it, got the feel of it. Then used the Dakota as his Gateway.
"The Dakota?
"A New York apartment building. It was there in the nineteenth century, and it's there today. The Project furnished an apartment in the Dakota, got him the right wardrobe, made it a Gateway-
"Could you do it? Get back there where Morley is?
"Sure. He grinned. "If you can do the thing, you can do it, Major. That your car up the street, the Toyota? Rube nodded. "Looks a little snug for me.
"They fit the Japanese, John.
"I'll manage. He stood up, inches taller than Rube. "Run me over to my place. Give me five minutes to pack my stuff. Three, if I hurry. And I'll hurry. Believe me, I'll hurry.
CHAPTER 5
ALTHOUGH THIS WAS WINTER and well after dark, the air wetly cold, a man sat on a Central Park bench near Fifth Avenue, watching the path to his left. The light from a streetlamp just touched him, a dark motionless lump. The turned-up collar of his overcoat covered his chin, his cap pulled low over his forehead. Hands pushed into the overcoat pockets, he watched the path, and when he saw the man he was waiting for walking quickly toward him- Right on time, he said to himself-he lowered his face,and sat staring down at the path apparently in thought.
The man walked by; he was wearing an ankle-length dark overcoat and a brown fur cap, and when he'd walked on a dozen steps, the seated man stood up-tall now-and followed Simon Morley.
I walked out onto Fifth Avenue, a light delivery wagon rattled slowly by, the horse tired, his neck slumped, a kerosene lantern swaying under the rear axle. On the walk a woman in a feathered black hat, a fur cape over her shoulders, walked by, holding her long dark skirt an inch above the wet paving stones.
I turned south, down narrow, quiet residential Fifth Avenue (the tall man, twenty yards behind him, turned too), glancing into yellow-lighted windows as I walked, catching glimpses: of a bald bearded man reading a newspaper, the light from a fireplace I couldn't see reflected redly on the windowpane; of a white-a proned, white-capped maid passing through a room; of a month-old Christmas tree, a woman touching a lighted taper to its candles for the pleasure of the five-year-old boy beside her. north on Broadway from Madison Square, I walked along the IRialto, the theatrical section of New York when Broadway was Broadway. The street was jammed with newly washed and polished carriages. The sidewalks were
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