"Perhaps you're right," acknowledged Larry. And for the last time he gave his hand to Sert. "This is a one-way passage, my friend. We go back to our own time, but—"
"Yes, Larry Wilson?"
Sandra answered for both of them.
"What Larry means to say is—if the occasion ever arises when you should need us, do not hesitate to send for us. Yours is the means of bringing us to your world. And we'll always be ready and waiting."
She paused a moment, then blushed. "It shouldn't be hard to find us," she ventured. "Because I think that we are going to be together—from now on. Isn't that right, Larry?"
"You forgot," said Larry, "the 'darling' part." He led her into the Time-warp field. They waved once more to their friends. Then Sert pressed a button. A shimmering field built up about them, cutting off their view. It was gray and weird, and the passage twisted and curved. Again, as long before, Larry experienced that wild, topsy-turvy sense of bottomlessness ... of falling ... of clutching for some support. His hand found something soft and warm that gripped his own....
He opened his eyes to find a black face peering into his; great white eyes staring with fright. A soft hand was under his armpit, raising him; a liquid Negro voice was demanding, "Yo' awright, boss? Yo' hurt yo'se'f? Ah di'n't see you fall till—boom! Theah you was! Yo' awright?"
Larry said, "Yes, I'm all right." Then he remembered. He turned swiftly. "The girl—where is she? Sandy!"
And Sandra was at his side. Both of them were on the steps in the Broad Street Station in Philadelphia. They were being stared at by curious eyes; a little crowd had gathered. Larry looked swiftly at his wrist-watch. The hands stood at 10:59 on the dot.