Marilyn said, "I think he means he likes it. But who is he and just
where did he come from?"
The gaily dressed youth got out of the chair and smiled at us. Each of
his shoulders had padding the size of a football. His coat tapered from
four feet wide at the shoulders to a tightly bound waist, the lapels
from a foot at the top to zero. The trousers widened out to wide stiff
hoops that ended six inches above his shoes. And the shoes! But at
least they weren't really alive, as I had thought at first.
"How is it," asked Marilyn, "that a cool cat from the future comes to
visit us in a time machine? I would expect a more scholarly type."
"Not so, doll-o. The angleheads don't reach the real science. The
scientist pros believe that all knowledge is known. They delve not into
the sub-zero regions of thought. That is done by us amateurs."
* * * * *
He did a short bit of syncopated tap and introduced himself. "I am
Solid Chuck Richards, ambassador to the past, courtesy of the Friday
Night Bull Session and Experimentation Society."
"Are they all like you?" I asked.
"No, o-daddy-man. Some are deep, some are high on the scale, but all of
them reach together on one thing--they all feel that the pro-scientists
have grown angular and lost the sense of wonder. So we gather together
on Friday nights to work on the off-beat side of science. We read your
books--if you are Ted Langer--?"