“Does that tell me where you’ve been—if I believe it?”
“Well,” said Mr. Binder, considering, “I don’t know that it does. You see, George, I missed out on one thing. Normally those atom fields hold each atom in its place up and down, and side to side, and fore and aft—if you get what I mean. When something—an atom—tries to push between them, they push right back. But when I hindered them from that, they still pushed. Only they pushed at right angles to up and down and side to side and fore and aft. At right angles to all of the other directions they ought to push in.”
“At right angles to all other directions?” said Mr. McFadden skeptically. “How could that be? ‘Twould be a fourth dimension!”
“It was,” said Mr. Binder modestly. “And the fourth dimension’s time flow, George. So when I fell through the deerskin and all those atoms pushed on the atoms that are me, they pushed me off into the fourth dimension. They pushed me into the middle of week after next. This is the middle of week after next to me, George. By relativity.”
Mr. McFadden stared. Then, carefully, he filled his pipe. He lighted it and puffed without words. Mr. McFadden was a skeptical man.
Mr. Binder said meditatively, “Ah, well! Those atoms that get their fields all tricked up won’t stay that way. Every day they threw people who fell through the deerskin just a little shorter distance. From the middle of the week after next, where they threw me, they’ve slowed down and slowed down. By what the papers say, I figure the last missing people only got thrown into the day after tomorrow. And maybe by this time the atoms in the deerskin are back to normal and won’t allow any compenetration.”
“Is that so?” said Mr. McFadden with fine scorn.
“I’m afraid so,” said Mr. Binder regretfully. “Compenetration can be done, George, but it just isn’t practical. I’m going to try replication.”
“And what, may I ask, is replication?”
“Ah!” said Mr. Binder enthusiastically. “That’s the philosophical notion that it could be possible for the same thing to be in several places at the same time! That has possibilities, George!”
It can be reported that Mr. Thaddeus Binder is now at work on the problem of replication, which—he will explain—is a philosophico-scientific prospect of great interest. He is a very nice, pink-cheeked, little man, Mr. Binder, but maybe somebody ought to stop him. He does not realize his talents. Replication, now . . .
Mr. Steems could be applied to for an opinion. After all, he has had experience with Mr. Binder’s experiments. If the matter of the Taxi Monster and the middle of the week after next is mentioned in his vicinity, he will begin to speak rapidly and with emotion. His speech will grow impassioned, his tone will grow hoarse and shrill at the same time, and presently he will foam at the mouth. But on the other hand, Susie Blepp and Patrolman Cassidy feel quite otherwise.
It’s pretty hard to decide.