He reentered his room, closed and locked the door carefully, and walked over to his bed. His dazed eyes wandered to the window, to the dirty brick wall of the apartment house next door, to the shaft of blazing afternoon sunlight that struck the grimy windowpane. In broad daylight! It had happened in broad daylight!
He sat on the bed, staring at the package in his lap. It was a light, bulky package, wrapped in some silvery gray substance that felt colder and smoother than rubber—more like metal. On one side of the package was an inscription in large, bold script:
To: Mr. Joseph Linger
June 27th, 1951, Dark Ages Earth
24 Kens Street, Jersey City, N.J.
United States, North America
He wondered if it was a gag. But the little old man with four arms hadn't been a gag!
Finally, Joe opened the package. He merely inserted his thumb into a conspicuous slot at the corner and pushed it around the top edges. The silver-gray material parted easily and the lid came off the package. As it fell aside, he saw that the interior was filled with what resembled a rubber sponge soaked in black lacquer. It was dry, springy, and blackly glistening. He clutched at it and pulled it out.
Only a top layer came out. Beneath that, surrounded with layers of the cushioning substance, was—something—and a folded sheet of glossy, white paper.
Joe took out the paper and read it.
Mr. Joseph Linger
June 27th, 1951, U.S.A.
Dark Ages Earth
Dear Mr. Linger: