A mild attack of looseness around the belt reminded me that this was one of those times. I said, "Talking about space, Hank, that's what I've got the most of in my stomach. What say we tool this period-perambulating push-cart up to an 'ought-to-have-been' café and give the inner man something to think about?"
Helen nodded approval to my idea.
"I could use a little food myself, Hank."
Hank wet his lips. "J-jim—" he faltered.
"Now, look, pal," I declared firmly, "I know you're having a good time. This sort of thing is right up your pet alley. But have a little consideration for your passengers. All Helen and I want is victuals, and we'll travel with you from here to the universe where Adam didn't eat the apple—right, Helen? A round trip for a square meal; that's a fair exchange, isn't it?"
Hank said, "Jim—Helen—whut I got to say ain't nice. From the minute we started this trip, I been worryin' about one thing. The other 'me' which we met back there in the room realized it, too, an' he was also worried. You see, like Jim oughta realize atter he couldn't grab aholt o' that likker bottle—we can't eat or drink while we're travelin' in this crate!"
"We can't—!" I realized, suddenly and completely, that he was right. That was one of the things he had tried to make clear. We had no real existence to these other worlds, nor they to us. I'm afraid I went into a sort of panic, then. I said, "Then we've got to get back to our own time, Hank, or we'll starve to death!"
Hank said miserably, "But that's jest it, Jim—how are we gonna git back to our own Time? We don't know where it is. Like I awready said, we seem to be travelin' sideways across a billion possible Times. An' since I didn't get the temporal grapple installed, like I planned to before Helen—"
He stopped. But Helen had caught the implication of his words. She cried suddenly, "It's all my fault! Because I thought I knew it all, Hank, I've let us in for this. Oh, I wish I'd never tried to be so smart—"