“Oh,” said Shorty again. And that held him for a while. Somehow it didn’t seem particularly strange any more that he should be waiting to see a dinosaur hunted with a sling shot. The mad part of it was that he should be waiting for a dinosaur at all. Granting that, it wouldn’t have seemed any sillier to have sat here waiting for one with a—
“Say,” he said, “if using a sling shot on those things is sporting, did you ever try a fly swatter?”
The little man’s eyes lighted up. “That,” he said, “is an idea. Say, maybe you really are eligible for—”
“No,” said Shorty hastily. “I was just kidding, honest. But, listen—”
“I don’t hear anything.”
“I don’t mean that; I mean—well, listen, pretty soon I’m going to wake up or something, and there are a couple questions I’d like to ask while… while you’re still here.”
“You mean while you’re still here,” said the little man. “I told you that your getting in on this with me was a pure accident, and one moreover that I’m going to have to take up with Napo—”
“Damn Napoleon,” said Shorty. “Listen, can you answer this so I can understand it? Are we here, or aren’t we? I mean, if there’s a time machine there by you, how can it be there if there can’t be a time machine? And am I, or am I not, still back in Professor Dolohan’s classroom, and if I am, what am I doing here? And—oh, damn it; what’s it all about?” The little man smiled wistfully.
“I can see that you are quite thoroughly mixed up. I might as well straighten you out. Do you know anything about logic?”
“Well, a little, Mr… uh—”
“Call me Dopey. And if you know a little about logic, that’s your trouble. Just forget it and remember that I’m crazy, and that makes things different, doesn’t it? A crazy person doesn’t have to be logical. Our worlds are different, don’t you see? Now you’re what we call a normal; that is, you see things the same as everybody else. But we don’t. And since matter is most obviously a mere concept of mind—”
“Is it?”
“Of course.”
“But that’s according to logic. Descartes—”
The little man waved his sling shot airily. “Oh, yes. But not according to other philosophers. The dualists. That’s where the logicians cross us up. They divide into two camps and take diametrically opposite sides of a question, and they can’t both be wrong. Silly, isn’t it? But the fact remains that matter is a concept of consciousness, even if some people who aren’t really crazy think it is. Now there is a normal concept of matter, which you share, and a whole flock of abnormal ones. The abnormal ones sort of get together.”
“I don’t quite understand. You mean that you have a secret society of… uh… lunatics, who… uh… live in a different world, as it were?”
“Not as it were,” corrected the little man emphatically, “but as it weren’t. And it isn’t a secret society, or anything organized that way. It just is. We project into two universes, in a manner of speaking. One is normal; our bodies are born there, and of course, they stay there. And if we’re crazy enough to attract attention, we get put into asylums there. But we have another existence, in our minds. That’s where I am, and that’s where you are at the moment, in my mind. I’m not really here, either.”
“Whew!” said Shorty. “But how could I be in your—”
“I told you; the machine slipped. But logic hasn’t much place in my world. A paradox more or less doesn’t matter, and a time machine is a mere bagatelle. Lots of us have them. Lots of us have come back here hunting with them. That’s how we killed off the dinosaurs and that’s why—”
“Wait,” said Shorty. “Is this world we’re sitting in, the Jurassic, part of your… uh… concept, or is it real? It looks real, and it looks authentic.”
“This is real, but it never really existed. That’s obvious. If matter is a concept of mind, and the saurians hadn’t any minds, then how could they have had a world to live in, except that we thought it up for them afterward?”
“Oh,” said Shorty weakly. His mind was going in buzzing circles. “You mean that the dinosaurs never really—”
“Here comes one,” said the little man.
Shorty jumped. He looked around wildly and couldn’t see anything that looked like a dinosaur.
“Down there,” said the little man, “coming through those bushes. Watch this shot.”
Shorty looked down as his companion raised the sling shot. A small lizard-like creature, but hopping erect as no lizard hops, was coming around one of the stunted bushes. It stood about a foot and a half high.
There was a sharp pinging sound as the rubber snapped, and a thud as the stone hit the creature between the eyes. It dropped, and the little man went over and picked it up.
“You can shoot the next one,” he said.
Shorty gawked at the dead saurian. “A struthiomimus!” he said. “Golly. But what if a big one comes along? A brontosaurus, say, or a Tyrannosaurus Rex?”
“They’re all gone. We killed them off. There’s only the little ones left, but it’s better than hunting rabbits, isn’t it? Well, one’s enough for me this time. I’m getting bored, but I’ll wait for you to shoot one if you want to.”
Shorty shook his head. “Afraid I couldn’t aim straight enough with that sling shot. I’ll skip it. Where’s the time machine?”
“Right here. Take two steps ahead of you.”
Shorty did, and the lights went out again.
“Just a minute,” said the little man’s voice, “I’ll set the levers. And you want off where you got on?”
“Uh… it might be a good idea. I might find myself in a mess otherwise. Where are we now?”
“Back in 1958. That guy is still telling his class what he thinks happened to the dinosaurs. And that red-headed girl— Say, she really is a honey. Want to pull her hair again?”
“No,” said Shorty. “But I want off in 1953. How’s this going to get me there?”
“You got on here, from 1953, didn’t you? It’s the warp. I think this will put you off just right.”
“You think?” Shorty was startled. “Listen, what if I get off the day before and sit down on my own lap in that classroom?”
The voice laughed. “You couldn’t do that; you’re not crazy. But I did, once. Well, get going. I want to get back to—”
“Thanks for the ride,” said Shorty. “But—wait—I still got one question to ask. About those dinosaurs.”
“Yes? Well, hurry; the warp might not hold.”
“The big ones, the really big ones. How the devil did you kill them with sling shots? Or did you?”
The little man chuckled. “Of course, we did. We just used bigger sling shots, that’s all. Good-by.”
Shorty felt a push, and light blinded him again. He was standing in the aisle of the classroom.
“Mr. McCabe,” said the sarcastic voice of Professor Dolohan, “class is not dismissed for five minutes yet. Will you be so kind as to resume your seat? And were you, may I ask, somnambulating?”
Shorty sat down hastily. He said, “I… uh— Sorry, professor.”
He sat out the rest of the period in a daze. It had seemed too vivid for a dream, and his fountain pen was still gone. But, of course, he could have lost that elsewhere. Yet the whole thing had been so vivid that it was a full day before he could convince himself that he’d dreamed it, and a week before he could forget about it, for long at a time.