He fishes around for his pipe and lights up. "How big's the universe,
Harry?"
"Now son, I got no idea how big the universe is and I says so. All I
know is that it's _big_."
"Most scientists say the universe is infinite," Joe explains. "And if
it's infinite, then it must have an infinite number of worlds in it.
An actual world to match whatever kind of world you can dream up,
let's say. All you have to do is step into the _Paradise_ booth, put
on the cap, visualize the kind of world you want to live in so it
shows on the screen, and off you go!"
"You're kidding," I says feebly. "You don't really mean it."
He taps me on the chest with his finger and says: "Yes, I do really
mean it, Harry. I've tried it and it works!"
And there I thought I had him. "If you went off to another world," I
says slyly, "just how did you get back?"
"Built myself another machine," he says promptly.
I snapped the trap shut. "Just picked this world out of all the
millions there are? Just like that."
Joe grinned. "I just thought of the damnedest world that I could, and
here I was!"
Well, he had me. There wasn't much more I could say. Joe's idea, of
course, was to build machines and put them on the street corners like
you would newspaper stands. He figured that all the misfits and the
unhappy people would sneak out and use them and _whisht_, off they'd
fly to their own favorite world, leaving all us well-adjusted people
behind. He even had a slogan figured out. "_Paradise--for only a
quarter!_"
You see, he figured he'd have to charge a quarter not only to pay for
the machines but because people are just naturally suspicious of
anything they get for free....
* * * * *
Joe and Wally Claus rigged up three of the machines and installed them
on some of the better known street corners around Fremont. Joe had
trouble getting a license to do it, but when he told the city fathers
what the machines did, they figured the best way to discourage a
crackpot was to let him go ahead and flop on his own.
And he came close to doing it. Those booths just sat on the street
corners all summer and gathered dust. People called them Shannon's
folly, which didn't help things with Marge any.
And then one day, Barney Muhlenberg disappeared. We thought he might
have gotten drunk and fallen in the river and we spent a good two days
dragging it. And then we looked in at his rooming house but we didn't
find a thing except thirty-nine empty bottles and a rusty opener.
It was Joe who first discovered what had happened. He got hold of me
and we went down to the _Paradise_ booth on the corner just opposite
from Schultz's Bar and Grill. There was a quarter in the coin till and
when I looked at the screen, I knew Barney had taken off.
Well, everybody's happy. Joe's glad that his machine has finally
caught on, Barney is probably happy playing Cowboys and Indians even
though he's way too old for it, and the town is happy because its
worst sanitary problem has just eliminated itself.
The news gets spread around and everybody starts laying odds on who's
gonna be the next to go. Nobody goes near the booths for about a week,
and then the kids start passing around a rumor Saturday morning that
Miss Alice Markey has submitted her resignation to the school board
and is packing to leave town.
The town splits. Half the people figure she'll be sensible and leave
by bus. The other half, myself included, station ourselves at the
_Paradise_ booth that's nearest to her apartment. Along about noon,
Miss Alice shows up. She's pale and determined looking, all dressed up
to travel. Her suitcase is leaking little bits and ends of clothing
and over her shoulder she's got a knapsack with her lunch in it.
Always practical, Miss Alice was.
"You aren't really thinking of leaving are you, Ma'm?" I ask, thinking
it would be a shame for a good-hearted, hard-working school teacher
like Miss Alice to leave Fremont.
"I'll thank you to mind your own business, young man!" she says
coldly, and marches into the booth and pulls the curtain shut. A
moment later I hear a coin drop, there's a flash of bright blue light,
and then dead silence.
I was the nearest one so I lifts the curtain and peeks in. Miss Alice
and her suitcase and knapsack have disappeared. I look at the screen
even though nobody needs to tell me that Miss Alice Markey has whisked
off to a world where all the men look like Rudolph Valentino and have
a fondness for old-maid school teachers. Sure enough, I was right....
About mid-August, Joe comes around and he's looking mighty worried.
"Harry," he says, "Wally Claus has disappeared."
I mull it over for a minute. "It can't be what you're thinking," I
says. "Wally's one of the most normal men in town."
We go down to see Wally's wife and I begin to get the picture. Wally
was one of those hard working, hard drinking Dutchmen with a family
about three times as big as his salary. He worked at Stellar Electric
with Joe and, like I say, sometimes he used to help Joe in his lab.
"When was the last time you saw Wally?" Joe asks gently.
Mrs. Wally is blubbering in her handkerchief and trying to hold a kid
on her lap at the same time. Two more are hanging onto her chair, and
about six others are standing around the room sucking their thumbs and
looking wide-eyed at Joe and me.
"It was p-payday," she blurts, the tears streaming down her fat
cheeks. "Wally c-comes home drunk and all I do was quietly ask him for
his paycheck. And that's the last I see of him. I d-don't know w-what
got into him!"
Anybody with half an eye, I thought, could piece together what had
happened. Wally probably had one or two at Schultz's bar and got to
feeling sorry for himself and then when he got home, he walked into a
hornet's nest. Nine kids bawling or running around and Mrs. Wally
nagging the life out of him. He must have wondered if it was worth it,
then found a quarter in his pocket and walked around the corner to the
nearest _Paradise_ booth. _Whisht_--and Wally's worries are a thing of
the past.
Joe and I get the idea at the same time and we chase down to the
nearest booth. I took one look at the screen and blushed. Wally had
some pretty wild ideas.
On the way home, I tried to talk Joe into tearing the machines down.
"How do you know where it's going to end, Joe?" I argues. "You can't
tell who's well-adjusted and who isn't any more. And besides, some of
those who ain't have contributed just as much to life as those who
are. Maybe even more."
"I'm going to leave them up," Joe says grimly. "The world will be
better off without a lot of neurotics running around."
"You won't think it over, Joe?"
"No," he says, "and to prove it, I'm going to spend the next two weeks
in New York looking for backing to put up _Paradise_ booths all across
the country."
"What does Marge think?" I ask.
"Hang Marge!" he says.
Well, I just stood there in the middle of the block and watched him
get smaller and smaller in the distance. I couldn't think of anything
more to say and he wouldn't have listened to me anyways.
I packed and left town that same night. The strawberry season was just
coming on and I ain't never missed a harvest yet.
* * * * *
About two weeks passed and I couldn't stay away any longer. I got back
to town, took a look around, and then went down to the station to wait
for Joe to come in on the flyer. I figured somebody ought to be there
to break it to him gently.
He gets off the train looking happy and successful and I figure he's
made arrangements to put a _Paradise_ booth in every city, town, and
crossroads in the nation.
"Why, hello, Harry," he says when he sees me, and gives me the old
professional smile and handshake that really ain't the old Joe at all.
"Any cabs around?"
"No, there ain't no cabs around."
Something in the way I says it makes him give me a sharp look. "How
come? There's always a couple to meet the flyer."
"There ain't none this time," I says. "No cab drivers."
"No cab drivers?"
"Ain't no need for 'em any more," I says. "Ain't no people in town to
use cabs. Town's empty. Everybody's gone."