his face. I thought of the Time Traveler limping painfully upstairs. I don't think anyone else had noticed his lameness.
The first to recover completely from this surprise was the Medical Man, who rang the bell—the Time Traveler hated to have servants waiting at dinner—for a hot plate. At that the Editor turned to his knife and fork with a grunt, and the Silent Man followed suit. The dinner was resumed. Conversation was exclamatory for a little while, with gaps of wonderment; and then the Editor got fervent in his curiosity.
"Does our friend eke out his modest income with a crossing, or has he his Nebuchadnezzar phases? " he inquired.
"I feel assured it's this business of the Time Machine," I said, and took up the Psychologist's account of our previous meeting.
The new guests were frankly incredulous. The Editor raised objections.