"Holy cow!" said Jimmy. "He was telling the truth!"
"So it appears," said a voice at my elbow. I turned. It was the professor. There was a sad, wistful expression on his face. "Quod erat demonstrandum," he said softly. "Q.E.D." Then, as the horns got louder, and we could hear drivers cursing, he strode down the street and around the corner.
"Professor!" I yelled. "Wait!" I started to run after him when the horns stopped blowing. Cars started moving again, and many of the traffic lights had turned red.
Jimmy wiped his face in obvious relief. "Must have been a short circuit," he said hoarsely. "But for a minute—"
"Yes," I said. "A short circuit. Or maybe—a dry run to test facilities for the big day?"
Neither one of us said anything, but we both had the same thought as we returned to the bar. I picked up the subway token the professor had left there. I flipped it in the air several times and looked at Jimmy. He nodded in agreement. I went out and headed for the nearest subway.
Q.E.D.?
Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from Analog Science Fact & Fiction August 1963. Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed. Minor spelling and typographical errors have been corrected without note.