illist painting, in which this planet is one infinitesimally
small dot of color. The work is wholly imaginary, of course, since
neither the canvas nor the pigment has what you would term an
independent existence. Nevertheless, the artist takes it seriously. He
would not care to find, so to speak, mustaches daubed on it."

Herman sat limply, staring after him as he moved to the door. Secundus
turned once more.

"I hope you will not think that I am displeased with you, Doctor," he
said. "On the contrary, I feel that you are accomplishing more than
anyone else has. However, should you succeed, as I devoutly hope,
there may not be sufficient time to congratulate you as you deserve. I
shall have to replace you immediately in your normal world-line, for
your absence would constitute as noticeable a flaw as that of the
planet. In that event, my present thanks and congratulations will have
to serve."

With a friendly smile, he disappeared.

Herman wound his watch.

Two hours later, Primus's answers to his questions began to show a
touch of resentment and surly defiance. _Transference_, Herman
thought, with a constriction of his throat, and kept working
desperately.

Three hours. "What does the bolster remind you of?"

"I seem to see a big cylinder rolling through space, sweeping the
stars out of its way...."

Four hours. Only three minutes left now, in the normal world. _I can't
wait to get any deeper_, Herman thought. _It's got to be now or
never._

"You must understand that these feelings of resentment and hatred are
normal," he said, trying to keep the strain out of his voice, "but, at
the same time, you have outgrown them--you can rise above them now.
You are an individual in your own right, Primus. You have a job to do
that only you can fill, and it's an important job. That's what
matters, not all this infantile emotional clutter...."

He talked on, not daring to look at his watch.

Primus looked up, and a huge smile broke over his face. He began,
"Why, of--"

* * * * *

Herman found himself walking along Forty-second Street, heading toward
the Hudson. The pavement was solid under his feet; the canyon between
the buildings was filled with the soft violet-orange glow of a summer
evening in New York. In the eyes of the people he passed, he saw the
same incredulous relief he felt. It was over. He'd done it.

He'd broken all the rules, but, incredibly, he'd got results.

Then