re coming with me."

Joe was scared, she knew. But he didn't want her to know. His hands were
like ice and his fear blended with her own fear as their hands met.

"He'll kill you, Joe! You've got to forget me!" she sobbed.

"I'm not afraid of him. I'm stronger than you think. He won't dare come
at me with a gun, not here before all these people. If he comes at me
with his fists I'll hook a solid left to his jaw that will stretch him
out cold!"

She knew he wasn't deceiving himself. Joe didn't want to die any more
than she did.

The Man from Time had an impulse to get up, walk over to the two
frightened children and comfort them with a reassuring smile. He sat
watching, feeling their fear beating in tumultuous waves into his brain.
Fear in the minds of a boy and a girl because they desperately wanted
one another!

He looked steadily at them and his eyes spoke to them ...

_Life is greater than you know. If you could travel in Time, and see how
great is man's courage--if you could see all of his triumphs over
despair and grief and pain--you would know that there is nothing to
fear! Nothing at all!_

Joe rose from the table, suddenly calm, quiet.

"Come on," he said quietly. "We're getting out of here right now. My
car's outside and if Mike tries to stop us I'll fix him!"

The boy and the girl walked toward the door together, a young and
extremely pretty girl and a boy grown suddenly to the full stature of a
man.

Rather regretfully Moonson watched them go. As they reached the door the
girl turned and smiled and the boy paused too--and they both smiled
suddenly at the man in the bathing trunks.

Then they were gone.

Moonson got up as they disappeared, left the tavern.

It was dark when he reached the cabin. He was dog-tired, and when he saw
the seated man through the lighted window a great longing for
companionship came upon him.

He forgot that he couldn't talk to the man, forgot the language
difficulty completely. But before this insurmountable element occurred
to him he was inside the cabin.

Once there he saw that the problem solved itself--the man was a writer
and he had been drinking steadily for hours. So the man did all of the
talking, not wanting or waiting for an answer.

A youngish, handsome man he was, with graying temples and keenly
observant eyes. The instant he saw Moonson he started to talk.

"Welcome, stranger," he said. "Been taking a dip in the ocean, eh? Can't
say I'd enjoy it,