I was thinking that if they had told us just a few days sooner, Uncle Steve would still be alive.
But he never did want to die in bed.
“But the fruition of your efforts,” Whipple went on, “did not show at once. Like so many things in science, the new idea had to grow for a long time, among specialists … then the stupendous results burst suddenly on the world. For myself, if anyone had told me six months ago that I would be out here among the stars today, giving a popular lecture on the new physics, I wouldn’t have believed him. I’m not sure that I believe it now. But here I am. Among other things, I am here to help you get straightened away when we get back home.” He smiled and bowed.
“Uh, Mr. Whipple,” Chet Travers asked, “just when will we get home?”
“Oh, didn’t I tell you? Almost immediately … say soon after lunch.”
XVII OF TIME AND CHANGE
I might as well finish this off and give it a decent burial. I’ll never have time to write again.
They held us in quarantine for a week at Rio. If it had not been for the LRF man with us, they might have been holding us yet. But they were nice to us. Emperor Dom Pedro III of Brazil presented us each with the Richardson Medal on behalf of the United System and made a speech which showed that he was not quite sure who we were or where we had been, but nevertheless our services were appreciated.
But not as much attention was paid to us as I had expected. Oh, I don’t mean that the news services ignored us; they did take our pictures and they interviewed each of us. But the only news story I saw was headed: THIRD LOAD OF RIP VAN WINKLES ARRIVE TODAY.
The reporter or whoever it was who wrote the piece had fun with it and I hope he chokes. It seems that our clothes were quaint and our speech was quaint and we were all deliciously old-fashioned and a bit simple-minded. The picture was captioned: “Off Hats, Chuckies! Grandpa Towncomes.”
I didn’t look at the stories.
It didn’t worry Unc; I doubt if he noticed. He was simply eager to see Celestine. “I do hope,” he said to me half seriously, “that child can cook the way her mother could.”
“You’ll be living with her?” I asked.
“Of course. Haven’t we always?”
That was so logical that I had no answer. Then we exchanged addresses. That was logical, too, but it seemed odd-all the address any of us had had was the Elsie. But I exchanged addresses with everybody and made a note to look up Dusty’s twin, if he was still alive, and tell him he could be proud of his brother-perhaps I could locate him through the Foundation.
When they turned us loose and Celestine Johnson did show up I did not recognize her. I saw this tall, handsome old lady rush up and put her arms around Unc, almost lifting him off his feet, and I wondered if I should rescue him.
But then she looked up and caught my eye and smiled and I yelled, “Sugar Pie!”
She smiled still more and I felt myself washed through with sweetness and love. “Hello, Tommie. It’s good to see you again.”
Presently I promised to visit them at my very first chance and left them; they didn’t need me for their homecoming. Nobody had come to meet me; Pat was too old and no longer traveled, Vicky was too young to be allowed to travel alone, and as for Molly and Kathleen, I think their husbands didn’t see any reason for it. Neither of them liked me, anyhow. I don’t blame them, under the circumstances … even though it had been a long time (years to them) since I had mind-talked to their wives other than with Vicky’s help. But I repeat, I don’t blame them. If telepathy ever becomes common, such things could cause a lot of family friction.
Besides, I was in touch with Vicky whenever I wanted to be. I told her to forget it and not make a fuss; I preferred not to be met.