“Hurry, please.”
The obliging policeman hurried. He got in and started the car.
“About the revised quantum value, Dr. Hale,” he began, then stopped talking.
Dr. Hale was sound asleep. The policeman drove to Waterbury Airport, one of the largest in the world since the population shift from New York City in the 1960s and 70s had given it a central position. In front of the ticket office, he gently awakened Dr. Hale.
“This is the airport, sir,” he said.
Even as he spoke, Dr. Hale was leaping out of the car and stumbling into the building, yelling, “Thanks,” over his shoulder and nearly falling down in doing so.
The warm-up roaring of the motors of a superstrato-liner out on the field lent wings to his heels as he dashed for the ticket window.
“What plane’s that?” he yelled.
“Washington Special, due out in one minute. But I don’t think you can make it.
Dr. Hale slapped a hundred-dollar bill on the ledge. “Ticket,” he gasped. “Keep change.”