Joan looked at Peter and laughed heartily. "Peter Faust Hedgerly. Having a thirty-odd year grandson is quite a record for such as you," she told him. "You will only be thirty-two next birthday."
Peter turned to the other angrily. "Can it," he snapped. "Grandson my ankle!"
"I am your grandson."
"Yeah ... sure. Shall I call the cops now?"
"You could, but you will not."
"Oh spinach!" Peter headed for the phone again but the stranger said, quietly, "Might listen to me, Peter."
Peter stopped, turned, and said: "Explain—and explain fast!"
"You are a physicist with the Abstract Laboratory at Chicago. You also tinker in your study here. Your son—my father—will take up home-tinkering also, and your son's son—myself—will eventually discover the secret of time travel. I've done this. I am now here to see that things evolve with a minimum of effort."
Peter shrugged. "You could have saved your time," he said. "If you'd not interfered, I'd have asked Miss Willson to marry me."
"That's the point," smiled Hedgerly. "You see, Peter, my grandmother's name was not Willson, nor Joan. Peter Hedgerly—according to the family history—married a girl by the name of Marie Baker."