he feared the machine his deft hands and Blake's had created. Sometimes Blake had seen the old man staring at the Time Machine with a brooding dread in his eyes. But Blake himself felt only exhilaration, joyous expectancy at the thought of embarking on the greatest adventure–into time!
Blake ducked under the railing and stood erect on the platform. At his feet was a pile of paraphernalia Norwood had thought he might need–scientific textbooks, a barometer, blankets, tinned food, a large keg of water, and weapons–revolvers, several rifles, and even a sub-machine gun. Norwood couldn't seem to realize that the machine itself was the best protection against danger–that at the first warning of trouble Blake could put a dozen years between himself and any enemy.
Blake stepped to the pillar and knelt, examining the instruments. After a moment he nodded.
"Ready, Jep?" he called.
"Yes–ready," Norwood said gruffly.
"In the cosmic scheme of things, time was meant to be unchangeable."