"You're darn right. I'll never look at another sewing machine the rest of my life."
Bill paled when Molly packed her featherweight sewing machine with their belongings.
"Aw, honey!" he expostulated, cradling her beautiful blonde fluffy head with one arm while his other gripped the yelping bundle of activity that was his wire-haired fox-terrier, Is. "We won't need a sewing machine where we're going. Somewhere in the next ten thousand years we'll find a civilization where nobody does any work, where the whole world is one great big lawn—"
"You're always so certain of yourself, Bill," said she, cocking a pert blue adoring eye up at him. "And you're so certain of that time-machine."
"Why not? Unk and I took a trip in it before he died. It works."
Was, the other fox-terrier, came rocketing red-tongued into the room, stayed a moment, and plummeted madly out the open door.
"Oh, don't think for a minute that I don't think you know what you're doing," said Molly. "It's just that I can't imagine why Unk was so nice to you after those things you said—calling him a fussy old man who couldn't even invent a good excuse to die—"
Bill interrupted hastily. "That was just one of our friendly arguments," he protested. "Nope, Unk loved me like a son. Dope that I am, now I can see it." His eyes watered. "I'm sorry he's dead—almost. Anyway, the sewing machine is out. Where is Was?"
"He was here. He isn't. Is is. I wish you'd put her down, Bill. She's clawing me. That'll give you two arms for me."