Philip Van Doren Stern (ed) (23 page)

"I
sat
up
in
the
freshness
of
the
morning,
trying
to
remember
how I
had
got
there,
and
why
I
had
such
a
profound
sense
of
desertion and
despair.
Then
things
came
clear
in
my
mind.
With
the
plain, reasonable
daylight,
I
could
look
my
circumstances
fairly
in
the
face. I
saw
the
wild
folly
of
my
frenzy
overnight,
and
I
could
reason
with myself.
'Suppose
the
worst?'
I
said.
'Suppose
the
machine
altogether lost—perhaps
destroyed?
It
behoves
me
to
be
calm
and
patient,
to learn
the
way
of
the
people,
to
get
a
clear
idea
of
the
method
of
my loss,
and
the
means
of
getting
materials
and
tools;
so
that
in
the
end, perhaps,
I
may
make
another.'
That
would
be
my
only
hope,
a
poor hope
perhaps,
but
better
than
despair.
And,
after
all,
it
was
a
beautiful and
curious
world.

"But
probably
the
machine
had
only
been
taken
away.
Still,
I
must be
calm
and
patient,
find
its
hiding
place,
and
recover
it
by
force or
cunning.
And
with
that
I
scrambled
to
my
feet
and
looked
about me,
wondering
where
I
could
bathe.
I
felt
weary,
stiff,
and
travel-soiled.
The
freshness
of
the
morning
made
me
desire
an
equal
freshness.
I
had
exhausted
my
emotion.
Indeed,
as
I
went
about
my business,
I
found
myself
wondering
at
my
intense
excitement
overnight.
I
made
a
careful
examination
of
the
ground
about
the
little lawn.
I
wasted
some
time
in
futile
questionings,
conveyed,
as
well
as I
was
able,
to
such
of
the
little
people
as
came
by.
They
all
failed
to understand
my
gestures;
some
were
simply
stolid,
some
thought
it was
a
jest
and
laughed
at
me.
I
had
the
hardest
task
in
the
world
to keep
my
hands
off
their
pretty
laughing
faces.
It
was
a
foolish
impulse,
but
the
devil
begotten
of
fear
and
blind
anger
was
ill
curbed and
still
eager
to
take
advantage
of
my
perplexity.
The.turf
gave
better counsel.
I
found
a
groove
ripped
in
it,
about
midway
between
the pedestal
of
the
sphinx
and
the
marks
of
my
feet
where,
on
arrival, I
had
struggled
with
the
overturned
machine.
There
were
other
signs of
removal
about,
with
queer
narrow
footprints
like
those
I
could imagine
made
by
a
sloth.
This
directed
my
closer
attention
to
the pedestal.
It
was,
as
I
think
I
have
said,
of
bronze.
It
was
not
a
mere block,
but
highly
decorated
with
deep
framed
panels
on
either
side. I
went
and
rapped
at
these.
The
pedestal
was
hollow.
Examining
the panels
with
care
I
found
them
discontinuous
with
the
frames.
There were
no
handles
or
keyholes,
but
possibly
the
panels,
if
they
were doors,
as
I
supposed,
opened
from
within.
One
thing
was
clear
enough to
my
mind.
It
took
no
very
great
mental
effort
to
infer
that
my
Time Machine
was
inside
that
pedestal.
But
how
it
got
there
was
a
different problem.