Read Time Waits for Winthrop for Free Online Page B

understood immediately. “You probably had a lot saved up. About time you began discharging it. I wouldn’t worry: you’re as sane as anyone in your period. But your clothes have been cleaned off the field along with all the rubbish of our shriek; the officials are already preparing for the next one.”
    “What do I do?” Mr. Mead wailed. “I can’t go home like this.”
    “No?” the government man inquired with a good deal of curiosity. “You really can’t? Fascinating! Well, just step under that outfitter there. I suppose you’d like twentieth-century costume?”
    Mr. Mead placed himself doubtfully under the indicated mechanism as a newly clad citizen of twenty-fifth-century America walked away from it. “Yes. But please make it something
sane
, something I can
wear
.”
    H e watched as his host adjusted the dials. There was a slight hum from the machine overhead: a complete set of formal black-and-white evening wear sprang into being on the stout man’s body. In a moment, it had changed into another outfit: the shoes grew upward and became hip-length rubber boots, the dinner jacket lengthened itself into a sou’wester. Mr. Mead was perfectly dressed for the bridge of any whaling ship.
    “Stop it!” he begged distractedly as the sou’wester began showing distinctive sports shirt symptoms. “Keep it down to one thing!”
    “You could do it yourself,” Mr. Storku pointed out, “if your subconscious didn’t heave about so much.” Nonetheless, he good-naturedly poked at the machine again and Mr. Mead’s clothes subsided into the tweed jacket and golf knickers that had been so popular in the 1920s. They held fast at that.
    “Better?”
    “I-I guess so.” Mr. Mead frowned as he looked down at himself. It certainly was a queer outfit for a vice-president of Sweetbottom Septic Tanks, Inc., to return to his own time in, but at least it was
one
outfit. And as soon as he got home—
    He took a deep breath. “Now look here, Storku,” he said, putting aside the recent obscene memories of himself with as much determination as he could call up. “We’re having trouble with this Winthrop fellow. He won’t go back with us.”
    They walked outside and paused on the edge of the meadow. In the distance, a new shriek was being organized.
    “That so?” Mr. Storku asked with no very great interest. He pointed at the ragged mob of nude figures just beginning to jostle each other into a tight bunch. “You know, two or three more sessions out there and your psyche would be in fine shape. Although, from the looks of you, I’d say Panic Stadium would be even better. Why don’t you go right over there? One first-rate, screaming, headlong panic and you’d be absolutely—”
    “Thank you, but my psyche is my own affair!”
    The yellow-haired young man nodded seriously. “Obviously.
The adult individual’s psyche is under no other jurisdiction than that of the adult individual concerned
. The Covenant of 2314, adopted by unanimous consent of the entire population of the United States of America. Later, of course, broadened by the international plebiscite of 2337 to include the entire world. But I was just making a friendly suggestion.”
    Mr. Mead forced himself to smile. He was distressed to find that when he smiled, the lapels of his jacket stood up and caressed the sides of his chin affectionately. “No offense, no offense. It’s just that I’ve had all I want of this nonsense. But what are you going to do about Winthrop?”
    “Do? Why, nothing. What
can
we do?”
    “You can force him to go back! You represent the government, don’t you? The government invited us here, the government is responsible for our safety.”
    S torku looked puzzled. “Aren’t you safe?”
    “You know what I mean, Storku. Our safe return. The government is responsible for it.”
    “Force may never be applied to a mature citizen and even official persuasion may be resorted to only in rare and carefully specified instances. This