"Looks normal," said Jocelyn. "But the constellations are all out of whack, of course. What do we do now?"
Her husband put the tracer to his ear. "The very faintest kind of buzzing. This isn't the time, space, or plane of perception we want. But we'd better look around, anyway." He shot the Prototype at a sun. "We'll level out the curve of trajectory about a million miles from the troposphere," he explained, twiddling with the controls, "and ride on energy. Like a switchback. Only—" the twiddling had become desperate—"we don't seem to be able to level out. In fact, we're about to plunge into that sun!"
"Awk!" gulped Jocelyn. "What'll it be like?"
"Instant annihilation after a brief moment of intense discomfort," replied her husband, abandoning the controls and leaning back in the bucket seat. "Kiss me, sweet."
Jocelyn kissed him clingingly as they drove into the terrible, blazing surface of the sun. Then she looked at him coldly. "Well, when do we die?"
He looked baffled. "A few seconds ago. A glance will show you that we are in the center of a very big star and are even now emerging without any damage to the ship or to us. I submit that the star is cold. And why that should be, I'm damned if I know."
"Yew brat!" snapped a sharp, bitter voice. "Will yew git ter tarnation gone out of my universe or dew I have ter kick ye out?"
"Who's that?" asked Jocelyn.
"Davy Canter, thet's who!" snapped back the irritable voice. "This is my universe and I ain't hankerin' after intruders. Ef'n yew-all want ter see me face ter face, I'm on the seventh planet of thet sun yew jest ran through. And ef'n yer comin', come and ef'n yer gittin', git!"
"Sounds like an invitation," said Gaynor mildly. "Shall we call?" He selected the seventh planet and roared over its surface. The one huge continent that made it up was covered with ruins—and the most godawful ruins that anyone had ever seen anywhere. Periods and styles of architecture were jumbled close together; a Norman tower mouldering chock-by-jowl with a dilapidated super-city of shining concrete and glass met their eyes. Fascinated, they stared, as much at the scene as at the figure of the black-bearded hillbilly, complete with shotgun, standing atop a tower.
"Yew head north," came the voice. "Jest land in a clear bit o' land and I'll be there."
"Okay," said Gaynor helplessly. He landed the ship and opened the port. The wild-eyed backwoodsman confronted him, shotgun raised. "I'm Davy Canter," said the woodsman through his disheveled whiskers. "An' I dont see why folks cain't leave folks alone when they wants ter be alone. Whut do ye want in my universe?"
"Sorry, Mr. Canter," said Gaynor diplomatically. "I'm Paul Gaynor."
The backwoodsman stared at him in glee and cackled cheerfully. "Yew must be the fella that Billikin was always a-cussin' up n' daown," he said. "I'm right pleased ter meet up with yew." He extended his hand and solemnly they shook. Gaynor introduced the ladies and invited Canter in for a smoke and chat.
"Thank ye kindly," said the backwoodsman, who seemed to be warming up to them. "I reckon ye're wondering how come I got myself a universe all my own, hey?"
"Indeed we are," said Jocelyn. "It looks like a good trick."
"I'll begin at the beginnin'," said Canter comfortably. "I was known as the hermit of Razorback Crag back in West Virginia when this here Billikin, who said as haow he wuz a scientist feller, come to my place. He said he'd be gone in a little while ef'n I let him have the run o' the cabin n' creek, and fust of all, he works up a batch o' corn likker thet gits me jest warm with admiration—so I let him stay. All the time he was a-cussin Gaynor and Clair fer fakers and cheats, talkin' like a tetched man.
"He sets him up a lot of machinery on top of the Crag with storage batteries and things and finally says to me: 'Davy,' he says, 'I'm agoin' to fix them two fakers, Gaynor n' Clair. I'm agoin' to build a universe all my own. An' so help me ef'n they ever come traipsin' into it, I'm jes' nacherally agoin' ter shoot them dead fer trespassin'.' Then he pulls a switch an falls doawn daid. I guess it wuz heart failure or somethin'; he wuz as old as the hills. I looks him over 'n' takes a little swig o' thet corn—'n' then I reckon as haow I must have fell agin' another switch because I foun' myself afloatin' in space. So I sez to myself, I wish as haow I wuz on solid graound, and by ganny, I am! Then I sez to myself, I wish they wuz a sun up thar in the sky, and by ganny there is!
"So I bin here two or three years, I reckon, and, fuddlin' araound, buildin' cities and reducin' them agin, puttin' stars in the sky an' takin' them out when I get tired o' them. It's a sort o' lonely life, Mister Gaynor, an' ladies, but I wuz a hermit before Billikin came an' I guess he just sort of expanded my career, you might say."
"Extraordinary!" breathed Jocelyn.
"Thank yew, ma'am," said the hermit, staring at her with unconcealed curiosity. "An' naow, seein' ez haow I've told yew-all my story, mebbe yew can be atellin' me yours?"
"Nothing very much to it, Mr. Canter," said Gaynor. "This other egg, Clair, that Billikin was cursing up and down along with me, got himself lost in a universe of his own, I suspect. Only where it is, we don't know, and he hasn't got air and water enough to last him more than a couple of days. And, unfortunately, his universe probably isn't as convenient as yours, what with providing him with whatever he wishes for."
"Sho is a pity," mused Davy, shaking his head wisely. "Mebbe yew'd better push off, seem' as haow yer friend's stuck. But befo' yo-all git, ah'd mightly like fo' yew ter sample maw corn. Would yew be interested? Ah bin wishin' thet kind thet Billikin cooked up for me fust of all—sho' is fine likker, mister."
"Indeed, I would like some," said Gaynor, interrupting Jocelyn. They exchanged murderous glances. Davy cackled and produced a jug and glasses from his vest pocket. "Try this," he offered, pouring three and one with the authentic backwoods overhand spill.
"Thanks," said Gaynor gulping. "Awk!" he shrilled a second later. "Water!"
Davy was undisturbed. He waved his hand in a vague sweep and there was a firehose in it, whose tube snaked far back into the tumbled horizon. He played the terrific blast upon Gaynor, drenching him thoroughly. "Thet enough?" he asked, vanishing the hose.
Gaynor looked at him without words, wringing out his tie.
"Thanks," said Jocelyn, grinning. She set down her glass untasted, and promptly it vanished. "But now we really must be going."
"Well—seem' ez ye must, ye must," said the hermit. "But it wuz sort of nice fer ye ter drop in on a lonely old man."
"Davy!" shrilled a voice. The voyagers looked through the door. A sweet, round young thing in brightly checked gingham was coming through the forest. "There yew air!" she snapped angrily, shaking her impossibly blond hair. "Consortin' with disreputable people, yew varmint!"
"Aw, Daisy Belle," said Davy wearily. He passed his hand at her and she disappeared. "Funny thing," he said, looking redly sidewise at the voyagers. "Thet there phantasm jest won't stay a-vanished."
"Lonely old man," sneered Jocelyn. "Hah!" She flung the ship into high, slamming the door after the hermit of Razorback Crag.
III.
"Your clothes dried yet, honey?" called Ionic Intersection.
"Lay off the honey," warned Jocelyn, her eyes on the port. "You got yourself a man, even if you did lose him. How about it, Paul?"
"All dry," announced Gaynor, emerging in a suit that needed pressing. "Where are we?"
"By Clair's scale, about halfway from Earth to infinity. And the tracer's making noises like a dowager who's been eating radishes. Listen to the unmannerly creation."