no conception whatever of time. None
whatever."

The conversation with van Manderpootz recurred to me. I was impelled to
ask, "And have you, sir?"

"I have," he said grimly. "I most assuredly have. Time," he said
oracularly, "is money."

You can't argue with a viewpoint like that.

But those aspersions of his rankled, especially that about the _Baikal_.
Tardy I might be, but it was hardly conceivable that my presence aboard
the rocket could have averted the catastrophe. It irritated me; in a
way, it made me responsible for the deaths of those unrescued hundreds
among the passengers and crew, and I didn't like the thought.

Of course, if they'd waited an extra five minutes for me, or if I'd been
on time and they'd left on schedule instead of five minutes late, or
if--_if_!

If! The word called up van Manderpootz and his subjunctivisor--the
worlds of "if," the weird, unreal worlds that existed beside reality,
neither past nor future, but contemporary, yet extemporal. Somewhere
among their ghostly infinities existed one that represented the world
that would have been had I made the liner. I had only to call up Haskel
van Manderpootz, make an appointment, and then--find out.

Yet it wasn't an easy decision. Suppose--just suppose that I found
myself responsible--not legally responsible, certainly; there'd be no
question of criminal negligence, or anything of that sort--not even
morally responsible, because I couldn't possibly have anticipated that
my presence or absence could weigh so heavily in the scales of life and
death, nor could I have known in which direction the scales would tip.
Just--responsible; that was all. Yet I hated to find out.

I hated equally not finding out. Uncertainty has its pangs too, quite as
painful as those of remorse. It might be less nerve-racking to know
myself responsible than to wonder, to waste thoughts in vain doubts and
futile reproaches. So I seized the visiphone, dialed the number of the
University, and at length gazed on the broad, humorous, intelligent
features of van Manderpootz, dragged from a morning lecture by my call.

* * * * *

I was all but prompt for the appointment the following evening, and
might actually have been on time but for an unreasonable traffic officer
who insisted on booking me for speeding. At any rate, van Manderpootz
was impressed.

"Well!" he rumbled. "I almost missed you, Dixon. I was just going over
to the club, si