The man nodded, frowning slightly.
"Good," said Charles. "That's my name, too. May I come in?"
He pushed his way past the bewildered Chuck Mead, went into the living room and sat down.
He began the speech he had prepared. It was the first time he had said it aloud to anyone and, as he talked, he became painfully aware of how foolish it sounded. He knew that Chuck Mead was smiling behind the hand he so casually cupped over his chin and mouth. In the tiny living room with its fading furnishings, its old mahogany piano and the new TV, its old wedding pictures on the newly redecorated walls, talk of other worlds than this was hopelessly out of place.
"Look, I'm wasting my time trying to explain," Charles Mead said. "I want you to come with me. Don't ask questions. What I have to show you will save hours of explanation."
"What are you going to show me?" Chuck asked.
"Just come with me," Charles persisted. He knew it was only a matter of time. The bewildering similarity between them had definitely aroused the other's curiosity. He noticed that although Chuck Mead still smiled, it was an uneasy smile.
"Okay," Chuck said. "Anything for a laugh. Where do we go?"
"Hobson's Hill. I suppose you call it that in this world, too?"