World’s End

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Kenneth Blake, struggling into a bulky, ill-fitting garment of black leather, glanced up as old Norwood came into the laboratory. Norwood’s gaunt, wrinkled face was set in frowning lines, as it had been ever since Blake had announced that the experiment would take place today. It was odd that Norwood, who would be only a spectator, was worried and afraid, while Blake was only anxious to get into the Time Machine and test the theories which had engrossed him for seven years.

Blake smiled as he brushed back his blond hair with a mittened hand.

“Don’t look so miserable, Jep,” he said, and raised his eyebrows in mock astonishment. “Good Lord, another gun? You must think I’ll have to stand off an army.”

The other shrugged his narrow shoulders. “It’s as well to be prepared,” he said glumly, but put the revolver aside and came forward to help Blake, who was fumbling with the fastenings of a transparent helmet. Impatiently Norwood brushed away Blake’s gloved fingers, and the younger man, chuckling, watched deft, lean hands fasten the helmet into place.

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