High-Pockets looked at me. His deep eyes were thoughtful. I could almost see the neurons buzzing around in his head.
"If I could get this job out for you on time, would that save the day?"
"Probably." I laughed—or tried to. "But it is now a physical impossibility. There isn't enough time."
High-Pockets said sharply, "Call a truck," and wheeled out of the office.
I called the delivery truck before I realized what I had done. Well, it didn't make any difference. They could start hauling out the machinery.
I finished cleaning out my desk and took a wastebasket full of papers to the back shop.
And there, I give you my word, three High-Pocketses were busy carrying galleys from the type-dump to the proof-press. And as fast as they could carry a galley of type from the dump, another galley would just materialize there. I stood and stared. Galleys of type were coming out of thin air at the rate of about four galleys a minute.
I went over to where High-Pockets—the original High-Pockets, I suppose—was sitting at his machine. "Would you please tell me what is going on?" I asked.
"Well," said High-Pockets, "it isn't so complicated. I just sent the other five back in time to set this job, that's all. They've gone back about twelve weeks; and of course there isn't much time, so I had to make them double up. I've got them split up into shifts, along with a double of the chairman there, to cover the six machines. It's a little hard to explain, whether they are split up in time, or the time-split ones are split up in place, or just what."
"It's insane," I said weakly.