"That still doesn't explain why you brought me here. Don't tell me you intend to round up all the different versions of yourself. If so, count me out!"
"You're getting warm," Charles said. "If you'll bear with me a little longer, I'll stretch your imagination again."
Chuck groaned and settled down resignedly in the armchair.
"If there really are all these worlds," Charles began, "and I can't see why there shouldn't be, then a world must exist where there's a Charles Mead who never made a wrong decision! A Charles Mead who did everything right, who never made a wrong move in his life! Of course there must also be one of us who never made a right decision—to say nothing of all the endless varieties between the two extreme cases. But, of course, I'm not concerned with them."
Chuck stood watching the sleeping girl by the ornamental pool, looking back, thinking back over seven years. Then he went over to the cabinet and poured himself another drink—a strong one. "So what if there is a perfect Charles Mead somewhere? What about him?"
"I'd like to see him," Charles said. "I'd like to see such a world. Wouldn't you?"
"In your place? Not a chance! What's wrong with the world you're in now? It looks good to me. A lot better than mine—beautiful wife, big house, big shot in the company...."
"It's a matter of what you're used to," Charles said dryly. "I hope you don't mind me saying this—we are brothers, more rather than less—when I called on you, I'm sure I heard you fighting with Kathy. Do you fight often?"
"I guess we do," Chuck said, "from time to time."
"Estelle and I fight all the time. I still regret marrying her, even though I got rich because of it. Anyway, we don't get along. We don't even try to manage. There were plenty of times when I regretted not marrying Kathy. She seemed to me to be a nice homy, comfortable sort of kid."