The Middle of the Week After Next

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In this tale we meet our first Mad Scientist. Just as in reality the thoroughly cracked pots used to be found inventing perpetual-motion machines, so in science fiction we find the lunatic fringe more often than not trying to perfect time-travel mechanisms.

Of course, Mr. Binder is not really mad; he is just a bit unlikely. And the results of his experiments are unlikelier yet, but you come to look for that sort of thing with pleased anticipation when you read time-travel stories.

Don’t write in asking Mr. Leinster where the people in his story were when they weren’t here. He could tell you, but you wouldn’t understand, any more than Mr. McFadden did, or I did.

IT CAN be reported that Mr. Thaddeus Binder is again puttering happily around the workshop he calls his laboratory, engaged again upon something that he—alone—calls philosophic-scientific research. He is a very nice, little, pink-cheeked person, Mr. Binder—but maybe somebody ought to stop him.

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