"You're wrong there," Jim said flatly. "I'll entertain Vasper here, in good old 1940, or 45. But I'm not leaving this place, unless," he added, "I can run up ahead six months some time, and get the series and Bowl game results. You know, just for luck."
And that was that. Vasper reentered the golden tinted machine. They could see him, silver headgear gleaming, through the turret plastic hood. He waved a hand. Then a roar, and the machine was gone.
Below, lights of a row of cars marked a highway. Bob and Jim, both silent, trudged down the hill, toward the highway. Once more they must live where time and space counted very much indeed.