"That's what we call it," Chuck said, suppressing another grin. "In this world."
"Let's go, then," Charles urged, relieved that the toughest part was over. "There's nothing to worry about—you'll be completely safe."
"Who's worrying?" challenged his counterpart pugnaciously.
Charles pulled Chuck Mead, fighting and struggling all the way, into his own world and together they stood on Hobson's Hill, overlooking the town. "Scares me silly every time I make that crossing," Charles confessed breathlessly.
Chuck's fingers still clutched his arm, digging painfully into the flesh as though he expected the ground to crumble away at any moment.
"You're okay now," Charles reassured him. He pressed the switches on the square of black boxes and the humming noise ceased. The arch collapsed. "Just look around you and see if this isn't a different world. You'll notice we have a Finlay's Lumber Company here, which you don't have in your world. That's only one minor difference. Come on home with me and I'll give you all the proof you could want."
Charles Mead's home was a spacious villa set well back from the road in pleasant handsomely kept grounds. They went inside and Charles led the way upstairs to the den, a bright, paneled room at the back of the house.
"Nice place," Chuck said, awed.
"I suppose it is," Charles agreed. "Sit down. We've got a lot to talk about."