right, and threw his left arm into The Professor’s right hand, in which he was carrying his cup of coffee. As there was not, Samantha reminded herself, any such thing as plastic in 1931, the cup had no convenient lid, and the coffee flew all over the postman’s overstuffed bag, where it soaked several letters that were sticking out, unbeknownst to the postal worker, who seemed to be in a hurry anyway and continued walking at a very quick pace. The Professor made a startled sound and looked around to find out what had happened (he had been staring at a horse-drawn carriage across and up Columbus Avenue), but by this time Jordan was five paces away and had blended successfully into a crowd of identically-clad gentlemen who were turning up Seventy-sixth Street. The Professor eyed them as if trying to figure out who was responsible for the mishap, let out an indignant “Hmmmphh!” and continued walking slowly, sipping the drop or two of coffee that remained in his cup.
Samantha stood at the intersection, trying to decide what to do. She tapped her talk button and spoke quickly into the communicator.
“Professor, Jordan just whacked your cup of coffee all over the postman’s letter bag and disappeared into a crowd before you could notice him. He’s going... east on Seventy-sixth, the postman is going south on Columbus and you’re going north back toward the museum. What should I do!!?” Her heart was racing.
“Listen to me, Samantha. I think we know what we need to know. You need to run
back to the museum as quick as you can without causing a stir. Walk quickly past me,
not up Seventy-Sixth. As soon as you get to Seventy-Seventh, run when you turn the corner. You need to get back before me, put your feet in those tracings and I’ll do the rest. Are we clear?”
“Clear,” she responded, taking a deep breath and speed-walking around the still-ambling Professor. She pulled her coat close around her as she hurried past him, praying he wouldn’t recognize her. When she reached Seventy-Seventh Street she tore off in a sprint, dodging a street sweeper, an old woman with a cane and a child playing Jacks on the sidewalk. She turned up Central Park West and “turned on the turbo” to cover the remaining distance to and up the building’s main steps. She slowed down here briefly, cutting through a medium-length line and through the main lobby, heading for the stairway she had come up earlier. People began yelling as she elbowed by them, and she noticed a security guard had eyed her and started moving quickly toward her.
“Hey you–stop!” he yelled, starting to jog after her now. She broke into a run again, bursting through the door to the stairs and down, at least one guard hot on her heels. At the bottom of the stairs she turned and made a beeline for the time machine room. By this time, Polly had become quite agitated and was poking her head out of the backpack. Samantha plunged through the familiar door and into the dark room filled with motionless mastodons and still saber-tooths. She felt her way through the forest of artificial animals, trying to get a sense of where its center was and cursing her eyes for not adjusting faster to the darkness.
“In here!” She heard the guard’s voice yell somewhere toward the doorway. She could also hear the sounds of more running footsteps coming into the room.
“Where’s he at?” asked a new voice.
“He went in here,” replied the first one.
“There ain’t no other way outta here,” a third interjected. “I’ll watch the door, you two spread out.”
Suddenly a flashlight beam cut through the dark.
“Where’s the light switch in here?” the first guard grumbled.
“It’s here,” said the voice of the second. “It’s burned out.”
“Damn! All right, fella,” said the first voice. “We know you’re down here.”
Samantha searched desperately for the chalk outlines, crawling on her hands and knees so as to avoid the beams of the flashlights
Samantha stood at the intersection, trying to decide what to do. She tapped her talk button and spoke quickly into the communicator.
“Professor, Jordan just whacked your cup of coffee all over the postman’s letter bag and disappeared into a crowd before you could notice him. He’s going... east on Seventy-sixth, the postman is going south on Columbus and you’re going north back toward the museum. What should I do!!?” Her heart was racing.
“Listen to me, Samantha. I think we know what we need to know. You need to run
back to the museum as quick as you can without causing a stir. Walk quickly past me,
not up Seventy-Sixth. As soon as you get to Seventy-Seventh, run when you turn the corner. You need to get back before me, put your feet in those tracings and I’ll do the rest. Are we clear?”
“Clear,” she responded, taking a deep breath and speed-walking around the still-ambling Professor. She pulled her coat close around her as she hurried past him, praying he wouldn’t recognize her. When she reached Seventy-Seventh Street she tore off in a sprint, dodging a street sweeper, an old woman with a cane and a child playing Jacks on the sidewalk. She turned up Central Park West and “turned on the turbo” to cover the remaining distance to and up the building’s main steps. She slowed down here briefly, cutting through a medium-length line and through the main lobby, heading for the stairway she had come up earlier. People began yelling as she elbowed by them, and she noticed a security guard had eyed her and started moving quickly toward her.
“Hey you–stop!” he yelled, starting to jog after her now. She broke into a run again, bursting through the door to the stairs and down, at least one guard hot on her heels. At the bottom of the stairs she turned and made a beeline for the time machine room. By this time, Polly had become quite agitated and was poking her head out of the backpack. Samantha plunged through the familiar door and into the dark room filled with motionless mastodons and still saber-tooths. She felt her way through the forest of artificial animals, trying to get a sense of where its center was and cursing her eyes for not adjusting faster to the darkness.
“In here!” She heard the guard’s voice yell somewhere toward the doorway. She could also hear the sounds of more running footsteps coming into the room.
“Where’s he at?” asked a new voice.
“He went in here,” replied the first one.
“There ain’t no other way outta here,” a third interjected. “I’ll watch the door, you two spread out.”
Suddenly a flashlight beam cut through the dark.
“Where’s the light switch in here?” the first guard grumbled.
“It’s here,” said the voice of the second. “It’s burned out.”
“Damn! All right, fella,” said the first voice. “We know you’re down here.”
Samantha searched desperately for the chalk outlines, crawling on her hands and knees so as to avoid the beams of the flashlights
Similar Books
