Mrs. Robert Hoskins

“ Johnson. You want to believe it, therefore you do believe it. A man like yourself, aware of missed opportunities...."
"I haven't missed many chances in my day," said Johnson. "If I had, I'd never have become what I am today."
"Rich."
"I'd rather call it powerful."
"As you like." Cavendish shrugged. "After all, what is money but power? With it, you have the power to do things, make a living, run a business, increase your standing in the community. Without it.... Everything becomes negative. You have the power to die, but nothing more." ”

“ T. Arthur Johnson was a qualified success. Qualified, for, although successful he might be, as a man he was not happy. It is rarely that the two go hand-in-hand. Happiness and success often seem to be mutually exclusive goals. Yet contentment is a close cousin of happiness, and many let themselves be satisfied with second best.
After checking with Cavendish to find out just how much time would have to be invested in the experiments, Johnson arranged his affairs into the hands of several trusted managers—trusted because they were owned, body and soul, by Johnson. ”

“ Cavendish seemed near tears. He drank the whisky himself, then turned back to the machine.
"What are you up to now?"
"I'm looking for a suitable crisis point." The screen wavered, then filled with a group of men in uniform—heavy winter garb. They were clustered around a small fire in a cave; one seemed to be heating coffee in a tin can. Johnson sucked in his breath.
"You know what is going to happen?"
"Yes, dammit! You're a devil!"
"Perhaps." He sighed. "I sometimes wonder.... But no matter." ”

“ They paused at the timber-line, and Stebbins cursed, moving from man to man and urging him out of the false protection of the trees and onto the broad expanse of boulder-pocked snow. Above them, another two hundred yards, black dots against the snow showed where the caves were waiting for them. Johnson could visualize the little slant-eyed men within. ”

“ The boy stopped at the mouth of an alley, panic stealing logic as he glanced over his shoulders at the boys coming up quickly behind him. He darted into the alley, rounded a curve, and realized too late that he was in a dead-end. ”

“ My machine—temporal transgressor I call it, for want of a better term—my machine has the faculty of liberating a certain part of the human id, the conscience, the soul, if you please, and casting it adrift on the broad temporal stream. A strong will can direct this liberated 'something' against the general drift of the temporal stream, forcing it backwards against the natural current. ”

“ I've never denied it. Science has never been a particularly profitable field of endeavor—at least, not on my level. For you, science has made money. For me, it merely uses it."
"You want money from me." ”

“ The scene dissolved and was replaced by one with the boy in a classroom. The clock on the wall read three-thirty; school had been out some fifteen minutes. Timmy Johnson placed the last of the erasers in the blackboard trough and checked the stack of workbooks with his eye, stopping to shift the top one a quarter of an inch into better alignment.
"We are now approaching the crisis point," said Cavendish. "The blending of the adult Id with that of the boy will enable you to control the actions of the boy." ”

“ Consider, Sir; you are wealthy, powerful, in spite of your, ah, handicap." He glanced away as Johnson inspected his hand. "Just think what might have happened had you not been injured? Who can say what new avenues might be opened to you?"
"How much?"
"Then you'll do it?" asked Cavendish, eagerly.
"Perhaps. How much do you need?"
"I have my equipment all ready. But I need a great deal of power to operate it. You are one of the directors of Public Power ”

“ Johnson." His eyes lit up. "Right on time. I suppose you are as anxious as I to get on with the experiments."
"Time is valuable," said Johnson. "I don't believe in wasting it. Shall we get on with it?"
"Of course."
The lab seemed little changed from Johnson's earlier visit. An adjustable lounge chair had been set up near the screen; from it, lines ran into a panel of equipment that the industrialist found incomprehensible. At Cavendish's gesture, he sat down and permitted electrodes to be attached to his head and arms. ”

“ Events can be altered; time is not immutable!" The little man's eyes gleamed fanatically; Johnson for the first time debated the wisdom of letting himself be strapped in under his care. But Cavendish was already adjusting the electrodes ”