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went to the controls, rewound the tape, and hit the playback button.
    And afterwards, he said gently to Joe, “You
can
cry—see?”
    â€œDamn foolishness,” said Joe.
    â€œNo it isn’t,” Zeitgeist told him.
    Outside, it was morning—what a morning, with all the gold and green, thrust and rustle of a new morning in a new summer. He hadn’t been out all night; he had died and was born again! He stood tall, walked tall, he carried his shining new voice sheathed like Excalibur, but for all its concealment, he was armed!
    He had tried to thank Zeitgeist, and that strange man had shaken his head soberly and said, “Don’t, Joe. You’re going to pay me for it.”
    â€œWell I will, of course I will! Anything you say … how much, anyhow?”
    Zeitgeist had shaken his head slightly. “We’ll talk about it later. Go on—get in the car. I’ll drive you to work.” And, silently, he had.
    Downtown, he reached across Joe and opened the door. For him, the door worked. “Come see me day after tomorrow. After dinner—nine.”
    â€œO.K. Why? Got another … treatment?”
    â€œNot for you,” said Zeitgeist, and his smile made it a fine compliment for both of them. “But no power plant lasts forever. Luck.” And before Joe could answer the door was closed and the big car had swung out into traffic. Joe watched it go, grinning and shaking his head.
    The corner clock said five minutes to nine. Just time, if he hurried.
    He didn’t hurry. He went to Harry’s and got shaved, while they pressed his suit and sponged his collar in the back room. He keptthe bathrobe they gave him pulled snugly over his amplifier, and under a hot towel he reached almost the euphoric state he had been in last night. He thought of Barnes, and the anger stirred in him. With some new internal motion he peeled away its skin of fear and set it free. Nothing happened, except that it lived in him instead of just lying there. It didn’t make him tremble. It made him smile.
    Clean, pressed, and smelling sweet, he walked into his building at eight minutes before ten. He went down to the express elevator and stepped into the one open door. Then he said, “Wait,” and stepped out again. The operator goggled at him.
    Joe walked up to the starter, a bushy character in faded brown and raveled gold braid. “Hey … you.”
    The starter pursed a pair of liver-colored lips and glowered at him. “Whaddayeh want?”
    Joe filled his lungs and said evenly, “Day before yesterday you took hold of me and shoved me into an elevator like I was a burlap sack.”
    The starter’s eyes flickered, “Not me.”
    â€œYou calling me a liar, too?”
    Suddenly the man’s defenses caved. There was a swift pucker which came and went on his chin, and he said, “Look, I got a job to do, mister, rush hours, if I don’t get these cars out of here it’s
my
neck, I didn’t mean nothing by it, I——”
    â€œDon’t tell me your troubles,” said Joe. He glared at the man for a second. “All right, do your job, but don’t do it on me like that again.”
    He turned his back, knowing he was mimicking Zeitgeist with the gesture and enjoying the knowledge. He went back to the elevator and got in. Through the closing gate he saw the starter, right where he had left him, gaping. The kid running the elevator was gaping, too.
    â€œEleven,” said Joe.
    â€œYes,
sir
,” said the boy. He started the car. “You told
him
.”
    â€œÂ â€™Bout time,” said Joe modestly.
    â€œPast time,” said the kid.
    Joe got out on the eleventh floor, feeling wonderful. He walked down the hall, thumped a door open, and ambled in. Eleanor Bulmer, the receptionist, looked up. He saw her eyes flick to the clock and back to his face. “Well!”
    â€œMorning,” he said