Time mechine

‘Let’s see your experiment anyhow,’ said the
Psychologist, ‘though it’s all humbug, you know.’
The Time Traveller smiled round at us. Then, still
smiling faintly, and with his hands deep in his trousers
pockets, he walked slowly out of the room, and we heard
his slippers shuffling down the long passage to his
laboratory.

The Psychologist looked at us. ‘I wonder what he’s
got?’
‘Some sleight-of-hand trick or other,’ said the Medical
Man, and Filby tried to tell us about a conjurer he had
seen at Burslem; but before he had finished his preface the
Time Traveller came back, and Filby’s anecdote collapsed.

The thing the Time Traveller held in his hand was a
glittering metallic framework, scarcely larger than a small
clock, and very delicately made. There was ivory in it, and
some transparent crystalline substance. And now I must be
explicit, for this that follows—unless his explanation is to
be accepted—is an absolutely unaccountable thing.

He took one of the small octagonal tables that were scattered
about the room, and set it in front of the fire, with two
legs on the hearthrug. On this table he placed the
mechanism. Then he drew up a chair, and sat down. The
only other object on the table was a small shaded lamp,
the bright light of which fell upon the model. There were
also perhaps a dozen candles about, two in brass
candlesticks upon the mantel and several in sconces, so
that the room was brilliantly illuminated. I sat in a low
arm-chair nearest the fire, and I drew this forward so as to
be almost between the Time Traveller and the fireplace.
Filby sat behind him, looking over his shoulder.

The
Medical Man and the Provincial Mayor watched him in
profile from the right, the Psychologist from the left. The
Very Young Man stood behind the Psychologist. We were
all on the alert. It appears incredible to me that any kind of
trick, however subtly conceived and however adroitly
done, could have been played upon us under these
conditions.

The Time Traveller looked at us, and then at the
mechanism. ‘Well?’ said the Psychologist.
‘This little affair,’ said the Time Traveller, resting his
elbows upon the table and pressing his hands together
above the apparatus, ‘is only a model. It is my plan for a
machine to travel through time. You will notice that it
looks singularly askew, and that there is an odd twinkling
appearance about this bar, as though it was in some way
unreal.’ He pointed to the part with his finger. ‘Also, here
is one little white lever, and here is another.’

The Medical Man got up out of his chair and peered
into the thing. ‘It’s beautifully made,’ he said.
‘It took two years to make,’ retorted the Time
Traveller. Then, when we had all imitated the action of
the Medical Man, he said: ‘Now I want you clearly to
understand that this lever, being pressed over, sends the
machine gliding into the future, and this other reverses the
motion. This saddle represents the seat of a time traveller.

Presently I am going to press the lever, and off the
machine will go. It will vanish, pass into future Time, and
disappear. Have a good look at the thing. Look at the table
too, and satisfy yourselves there is no trickery. I don’t
want to waste this model, and then be told I’m a quack.’
There was a minute’s pause perhaps. The Psychologist
seemed about to speak to me, but changed his mind. Then
the Time Traveller put forth his finger towards the lever.

‘No,’ he said suddenly. ‘Lend me your hand.’ And turning
to the Psychologist, he took that individual’s hand in his
own and told him to put out his forefinger. So that it was
the Psychologist himself who sent forth the model Time
Machine on its interminable voyage. We all saw the lever
turn. I am absolutely certain there was no trickery. There
was a breath of wind, and the lamp flame jumped. One of
the candles on the mantel was blown out, and the little
machine suddenly swung round, became indistinct, was
seen as a ghost for a second perhaps, as an eddy of faintly
glittering brass and ivory; and it was gone—vanished! Save
for the lamp the table was bare.