There was darkness, then bright sun. They stood on a street corner, and Summersby could read the signs as plainly as Watkins must have read them in the focusing lens of the matter transmitter on the unknown planet.
Broadway and 42nd Street. The five of them had clicked into being on the busiest corner of New York.
"That old crook," said Adam, gulping. "He focused us here for a gag."
"I look awful," gasped Mrs. Full, and Summersby, glancing at her, agreed. Like all of them, she had lost weight; her skin showed the effects of a week's washing without soap; and her skirt and blouse were mussed up, to say the least. All the men needed shaves. Calvin Full, recovering gradually from the shock of the goad, and still supported by Villa, looked like a Bowery wino.
"Is he coming?" asked Adam, addressing Summersby. "Will Watkins be along too?"
"I don't know," said Summersby. He stared up at as much of the sky as he could see beyond the block-high ads. "I hope so."
"My chili stand!" shouted Villa, suddenly awakening to the fact of New York about him. "That no-good relief man! I've got to see what he's done to it!" Pushing Calvin to Adam, who grasped him by an arm, the Mexican waved hurriedly. "Come and see me," he said to all of them. "I'll give you a bowl free." He hastened away into the crowd.
"We've got to see about our clothes at the hotel," said Mrs. Full. She sounded apologetic. "I hope we'll see you again, Adam, and Mr. Summersby."
"I doubt it," said Summersby. He looked at Full. "Coming out of it?" he asked.
"Thanks," said Cal, nodding. He took his wife's hand. "Gave you my address, didn't I?"