"You are a physicist with the Abstract Laboratory at Chicago. You
also tinker in your study here. Your son--my father--will take up
home-tinkering also, and your son's son--myself--will eventually
discover the secret of time travel. I've done this. I am now here to
see that things evolve with a minimum of effort."
Peter shrugged. "You could have saved your time," he said. "If you'd
not interfered, I'd have asked Miss Willson to marry me."
"That's the point," smiled Hedgerly. "You see, Peter, my grandmother's
name was not Willson, nor Joan. Peter Hedgerly--according to the family
history--married a girl by the name of Marie Baker."
"Never heard of her," grunted Peter.
"You will," smiled Hedgerly. He turned to Joan. "I'm sorry," he told
her. "I have nothing against you: in fact you appear to be of the
finest. You will naturally understand there is nothing personal in any
of this. It is merely a matter of historic fact that Peter will marry
Marie Baker."
"Mr. Hedgerly," she said, "I dislike you thoroughly. Furthermore, I'm
not too certain that history is as solid as you think. Until further
notice, then, I hereby accept Peter's sidelong proposal of a moment
ago."
"Joan!" cried Peter running forward and folding the girl in his arms.
"Very fetching," observed Hedgerly with the air of a man observing the
antics of a couple of goldfish in the proverbial bowl. "Considerable
boundless and mutual enthusiasm, but both terribly and unhappily
misdirected. In other words a sheer waste of time and energy."
Joan and Peter unclinched and faced Hedgerly. "We like it," they said
in chorus.