He backed off absent-mindedly as I stepped toward him. "I've been thinking about it," he said. "As a matter of fact, I haven't been to bed since yesterday morning. I worked on it straight through from four o'clock yesterday. Twenty hours. I took caffeine tablets. But go ahead, tell me. What would you do if you—" he said it apologetically—"were me?"
I swallowed. "I'd go at it slowly," I said. "You can make a lot of mistakes by—"
He interrupted me, with a sudden fiendish glint in his eye. "The man that has this is pretty important, don't you think?" And he grinned. "How would you like to see my face on all the stamps?"
I shuddered in spite of myself. "Well—"
"I wouldn't bother," he said. "I've got something better to do first—"
"Harry," I said, leaning, "if I've said anything...."
"You didn't say anything." He gave me such a look as I hope I never get from a human again. "Big shot!"
I grabbed for him, but he was too quick. He leaped back, jamming the gadget into his pocket, fumbling at the spectacles with his other hand. I saw his feet lift clear of the pavement. He was hanging there like a mirage, drifting backward and upward just a little faster than I could run.
His voice came down, thin and clear: "I'll send you a postcard from...."
I lost the last part; anyhow, it couldn't have been what it sounded like.