"A man my age must watch himself, Steve. Especially when he is enervated by the hardihoods of lifetime scholarship."
"Rough," said Steve admiringly. He didn't know what the language meant but it sounded gorgeous.
The Perfesser turned to a pushed-down man beside him at the bar. "You would hardly believe, friend, what has just happened to me. One moment I was watching a home-visor-view—and the next I was standing in the street. I can scarcely credit this phenomenon."
"Funny things happen," said the pushed-down man. "I drive a laundry truck, and one stop is out to the national asylum. They got people out there what don't know where they even came from, too."
"You sure this really happened, Perfesser?" said Steve. "I mean—you wouldn't make it up or nothing." The Perfesser had drunk only one "fish bowl" of beer—it was a little early for his star-spangled lying.
"I can aver it happened," said the Perfesser stiffly. "A phenomena of psychic rarity—similar things have occurred to intellectual persons at various points in history."
Minnn was not enjoying himself. Humans were fun when they were having fun, but other moods were unendurable. Coupled with illogic it was worse. Minnn was considering shifting to the truck driver when the man suddenly arose. "Well, night, Steve, Perfesser—I gotta get the sheets a-rolling," said the man, and vanished out the back door.
It was seconds later that two policemen burst in the front door and headed straight for the Perfesser. Minnn acted instantly. The Perfesser's awareness was clamped out and the creaking frame was sent speeding to the back door.
Down the alley the laundry truck was starting, and the Perfesser's voice sailed after it, "Wait, fellow. Hold on!"
The truck slowed and the wizened face of the driver peered back just in time to see the police burst into the alley and open fire. The face was withdrawn instantly and the truck gained speed.