"Then why not come with me?" Golfin said. "Now that I know I can change the past I'm going to start doing it in earnest."
"Go with you?" I said.
"You could work for me," Golfin said persuasively. "I would pay you far more than you average picking pockets, and it would be far more exciting work."
"Say...." I said thoughtfully. "That's not a bad idea. I guess I owe you something, too, for saving my life." I nodded. "Okay. But where do we go?"
"Not where," Sam Golfin said. "To when. We're going to my present—a future year not too far removed from 1954."
He took out his hypodermic gadget and came toward me. I retreated a step, then stood still, the palms of my hands suddenly wet with perspiration.
"Good boy," he said. "It won't hurt much."
I went into the drugstore and up to the cigar counter. "A pack of Camels," I said to the cashier. I took out a three dollar bill and handed it to him as he slid the pack toward me.
"Fifty cents out of three dollars," he said absently.