"Ended up in jail, most likely. But what about the crisis? Did you succeed in avoiding it?"
"Crisis?" Johnson peered at him through narrowed lids. "Are you daft, man? What crisis could there possible be in a bunch of kids getting together in a corner sweet shop?"
"But...." Cavendish shook his head. "Things did change!"
"What changed? Name me one concrete thing that's different than it used to be."
"I...." He shook his head. "I can't."
"Of course you can't. And for the very simple reason that nothing did change. I'm still the same man I always was. And you'd better start coming up with some concrete benefits from this gadget of yours. You know I put myself into hock to raise the money you needed—I told my wife I was adding another franchise to my line. If she finds out her jewels were hocked for me to play around with a time machine, instead of a new line of cars, she'll flip. So how about it, Cavendish? Some concrete results next time."
Cavendish went to the bar and returned with a generous slug of whisky.
"What's this?" said Johnson.
"Why, your drink."
"Drink?" He snorted. "You know I don't drink, man. Have you gone completely daft? I haven't touched alcohol since I was a youngster."