't get it." He shook his head dubiously. "I feel alive all
right, and the food tasted good just now, but how in the world can all
the changes come about, or be? And there's something I should see to,
at home--" All at once he needed desperately to know how his mother
was, that morning. He stood up abruptly.

"If I can just go now, please?" Chris asked politely but firmly. "It's
been very interesting, but I--"

His throat tightened up again and he made a helpless gesture with his
hand, and looking toward the window, wondered if he could jump out
into the flower beds and be off. Mr. Wicker's voice, soft but with
such authority that one did not question it, came again, and it had a
healing in its sound.

"Sit down, Christopher my lad," he said, and his eyes were kind,
intent and eager. "We have much to talk of, you and I. But first, your
mind and heart shall be put at ease. Do you know who I am?"

Restive and anxious to be off, Chris nevertheless found it necessary
to reply.

"You sell old stuff. That's all I know," he answered, beginning to
feel a trifle surly.

Mr. Wicker nodded, tapping his fingertips together. "Yes," he agreed,
"I sell old things--in _your_ time. But now--in _this_ time, what do
you know of me?"

As he spoke there was a change of tone, as if a younger man was
speaking, and in spite of his impatience to get home, Chris looked up
sharply. Mr. Wicker was leaning forward, and Chris felt himself
immovable under the vigor of those dark eyes.

"Nothing, sir," he heard himself saying, not taking his eyes from
those of the man before him.

"I am a shipowner, Christopher, for one thing," Mr. Wicker drew a
slow breath. "A merchant trading in tobacco, cotton, corn, and flour.
But I am also--" he paused as if to give Chris time to hear each word,
"I am also quite a fine magician," said Mr. Wicker.

Chris leaned back, disappointed and scornful. "Rabbits out of hats?"
he inquired.

"No, young man," Mr. Wicker answered with no show of annoyance, "Not
rabbits out of hats. That--as you would say--is for toddlers. Suppose
I prove to you just how good?"

"Go ahead," said Chris, whose only thought was still to get home but
who admitted to himself a faint stir of curiosity.

"Watch closely then," commanded Mr. Wicker. "I have been in my
twentieth-century shape so that you would recognize me. Now I shall
regain my appearance of _this_ time--not a great change, I grant you,
but there will be a difference. Wa