"I'm not sure I'd care to ride your train, sir," Martin said. "Considering where I'm likely to end up."
"Ah, yes. The old argument." The Conductor sighed. "I suppose you'd prefer some sort of bargain, is that it?"
"Exactly," Martin answered.
"Well, I'm afraid I'm all through with that sort of thing. There's no shortage of prospective passengers any more. Why should I offer you any special inducements?"
"You must want me, or else you wouldn't have bothered to go out of your way to find me."
The Conductor sighed again. "There you have a point. Pride was always my besetting weakness, I admit. And somehow I'd hate to lose you to the competition, after thinking of you as my own all these years." He hesitated. "Yes, I'm prepared to deal with you on your own terms, if you insist."
"The terms?" Martin asked.
"Standard proposition. Anything you want."
"Ah," said Martin.
"But I warn you in advance, there'll be no tricks. I'll grant you any wish you can name but in return, you must promise to ride the train when the time comes."
"Suppose it never comes?"
"It will."
"Suppose I've got the kind of a wish that will keep me off forever?"
"There is no such wish."
"Don't be too sure."
"Let me worry about that," the Conductor told him. "No matter what you have in mind, I warn you that I'll collect in the end. And there'll be none of this last-minute hocus-pocus, either. No last-hour repentances, no blonde frauleins or fancy lawyers showing up to get you off. I offer a clean deal. That is to say, you'll get what you want, and I'll get what I want."
"I've heard you trick people. They say you're worse than a used-car salesman."
"Now, wait a minute"
"I apologize," Martin said, hastily. "But it is supposed to be a fact that you can't be trusted."
"I admit it. On the other hand, you seem to think you have found a way out."
"A surefire proposition."
"Surefire? Very funny!" The man began to chuckle, then halted. "But we waste valuable time, Martin. Let's get down to cases. What do you want from me?"
Martin took a deep breath. "I want to be able to stop Time."
"Right now?"
"No. Not yet. And not for everybody. I realize that would be impossible, of course. But I want to be able to stop Time for myself. Just once, in the future. Whenever I get to a point where I know I'm happy and contented, that's where I'd like to stop. So I can just keep on being happy forever."
"That's quite a proposition," the Conductor mused. "I've got to admit I've never heard anything just like it before and believe me, I've listened to some lulus in my day." He grinned at Martin. "You've really been thinking about this, haven't you?"
"For years," Martin admitted. Then he coughed. "Well, what do you say?"
"It's not impossible, in terms of your own subjective time-sense," the Conductor murmured. "Yes, I think it could be arranged."
"But I mean really to stop. Nor for me just to imagine it."
"I understand. And it can be done."
"Then you'll agree?"
"Why not? I promised you, didn't I? Give me your hand."
Martin hesitated. "Will it hurt very much? I mean, I don't like the sight of blood, and"
"Nonsense! You've been listening to a lot of poppycock. We already have made our bargain, my boy. I merely intend to put something into your hand. The ways and means of fulfilling your wish. After all, there's no telling at just what moment you may decide to exercise the agreement, and I can't drop everything and come running. So it's better if you can regulate matters for yourself."
"You're going to give me a Time-stopper?"
"That's the general idea. As soon as I can decide what would be practical." The Conductor hesitated. "Ah, the very thing! Here, take my watch."
He pulled it out of his vest-pocket; a railroad watch in a silver case. He opened the back and made a delicate adjustment; Martin tried to see just exactly what he was doing, but the fingers moved in a blinding blur.
"There we are," the Conductor smiled. "It's all set, now. When you finally decide where you'd like to call a halt, merely turn the stem in reverse and unwind the watch until it stops. When it stops, Time stops, for you. Simple enough?" And the Conductor dropped the watch into Martin's hand.
The young man closed his fingers tightly around the case. "That's all there is to it, eh?"
"Absolutely. But remember you can stop the watch only once. So you'd better make sure that you're satisfied with the moment you choose to prolong. I caution you in all fairness, make very certain of your choice."
"I will." Martin grinned. "And since you've been so fair about it, I'll be fair, too. There's one thing you seem to have forgotten. It doesn't really matter what moment I choose. Because once I stop Time for myself, that means I stay where I am forever. I'll never have to get any older. And if I don't get any older, I'll never die. And if I never die, then I'll never have to take a ride on your train."
The Conductor turned away. His shoulders shook, convulsively, and he may have been crying. "And you said I was worse than a used-car salesman," he gasped, in a strangled voice.
Then he wandered off into the fog, and the train-whistle gave an impatient shriek, and all at once it was moving swiftly down the track, rumbling out of sight in the darkness.
Martin stood there, blinking down at the silver watch in his hand. If it wasn't that he could actually see it and feel it there, and if he couldn't smell that peculiar odor, he might have thought he'd imagined the whole thing from start to finish train. Conductor, bargain, and all.
But he had the watch, and he could recognize the scent left by the train as it departed, even though there aren't many locomotives around that use sulphur and brimstone as fuel.
And he had no doubts about his bargain. That's what came of thinking things through to a logical conclusion. Some fools would have settled for wealth, or power, or Kim Novak. Daddy might have sold out for a fifth of whiskey.
Martin knew that he'd made a better deal. Better? It was foolproof. All he needed to do now was choose his moment.
He put the watch in his pocket and started back down the railroad track. He hadn't really had a destination in mind before, but he did now. He was going to find a moment of happiness .
Now young Martin wasn't altogether a ninny. He realized perfectly well that happiness is a relative thing; there are conditions and degrees of contentment, and they vary with one's lot in life. As a hobo, he was often satisfied with a warm handout, a double-length bench in the park, or a can of Sterno made in 1957 (a vintage year). Many a time he had reached a state of momentary bliss through such simple agencies, but he was aware that there were better things. Martin determined to seek them out.
Within two days he was in the great city of Chicago. Quite naturally, he drifted over to West Madison Street, and there he took steps to elevate his role in life. He became a city bum, a panhandler, a moocher. Within a week he had risen to the point where happiness was a meal in a regular one-arm luncheon joint, a two-bit flop on a real army cot in a real flophouse, and a full fifth of muscatel.
There was a night, after enjoying all three of these luxuries to the full, when Martin thought of unwinding his watch at the pinnacle of intoxication. But he also thought of the faces of the honest johns he'd braced for a handout today. Sure, they were squares, but they were prosperous. They wore good clothes, held good jobs, drove nice cars. And for them, happiness was even more ecstatic they ate dinner in fine hotels, they slept on innerspring mattresses, they drank blended whiskey.