e went back to his bedroom and got his wristwatch. It also said
six; and its sweep hand did not sweep.

"Now this could get silly. What is it that would stop both
mechanical and electrical clocks?"

He went to the window and looked out at the clock on the Mutual
Insurance Building. It said six o'clock, and the second hand did
not move.

"Well, it is possible that the confusion is not limited to
myself. I once heard the fanciful theory that a cold shower will
clear the mind. For me it never has, but I will try it. I can
always use cleanliness for an excuse."

The shower didn't work. Yes, it did: the water came now, but not
like water; like very slow syrup that hung in the air. He reached
up to touch it there hanging down and stretching. And it
shattered like glass when he touched it and drifted in fantastic
slow globs across the room. But it had the feel of water, wet and
pleasantly cool. And in a quarter of a minute or so it was down
over his shoulders and back, and he luxuriated in it. He let it
soak his head and it cleared his wits at once.

"There is not a thing wrong with me. I am fine. It is not my
fault that the water is slow this morning and other things awry."

He reached for the towel and it tore to pieces in his hands like
porous wet paper.

Now he became very careful in the way he handled things. Slowly,
tenderly, and deftly he took them so that they would not break.
He shaved himself without mishap in spite of the slow water in
the lavatory also.

Then he dressed himself with the greatest caution and cunning,
breaking nothing except his shoe laces, a thing that is likely to
happen at any time.

"If there is nothing the matter with me, then I will check and
see if there is anything seriously wrong with the world. The dawn
was fairly along when I looked out, as it should have been.
Approximately twenty minutes have passed; it is a clear morning;
the sun should now have hit the top several stories of the
Insurance Building."

But it had not. It was a clear morning, but the dawn had not
brightened at all in the twenty minutes. And that big clock
still said six. It had not changed.

Yet it had changed, and he knew it with a queer feeling. He
pictured it as it had been before. The hour and the minute hand
had not moved noticeably. But the second hand had moved. It had
moved a third of the dial.

So he pulled up a chair to the window and watched it. He realized
that, though he could not see it