faith, you got
to be a kid at heart, Danny. You got to have this dream, see?

"Because you don't travel anywhere. But your mind does, and it's like
you wake up in somebody else's body, drawn to him like a magnet,
somebody else--some_when_ else. Your body stays right here, you see. In
the trunk. In what they called suspended animation. But you--the real
you, the you that knows how to dream and to believe--you go back.

"Don't make the mistake I made at first. It's no dream in the usual
sense of the word. It's real, Danny. You're somebody else back there,
all right, but if he gets hurt, you get hurt. If he dies--taps for Danny
Jones! You get me?"

* * * * *

The dead man's voice chuckled. "But don't think this means automatically
you'll be able to travel through time. Because you got to have the
proper attitude. You've got to believe in yourself, and not in all the
historical fictions they give you. Now do you understand? If you're
skeptical enough and if at the same time you like to dream
enough--that's all it takes. Want to try it?"

Suddenly the voice was gone. That was all there was and at first Danny
could not believe it. A sense of bitter disappointment enveloped
him--not because Uncle Averill had left him nothing but an old steamer
trunk but because Uncle Averill had been, to say the least, off his
rocker.

The fabulous machine in the basement was--nothing.

Just a steamer trunk and an incredible story about time-traveling.

Danny sighed and began to walk back toward the cellar stairs. He paused.
He turned around uncertainly and looked at the trunk. After all, he had
promised; at least he'd promised himself that he'd carry out his
peculiar uncle's wishes. Besides, he'd come all the way down here from
Whitney College and he ought to at least try the machine.

But there wasn't any machine.

Try the trunk then? There was nothing to try except curling up in it and
maybe closing the lid. Uncle Averill was a practical joker, too. It
might be just like Uncle Averill to have the lid snap shut and lock
automatically so Danny would have to pound his knuckles black and blue
until the lawyer heard and came for him.

You see, sonny? would be Uncle Averill's point. You believed me, and you
should have known better.

Danny cursed himself and returned to the trunk. He gazed down at the
yawning interior for a few seconds, then put first one foot, then the
other over the side. He sat dow