“In one fell swoop,” declared Professor C. Cydwick Ohms, releasing a thin blue ribbon of pipe-smoke and rocking back on his heels, “--I intend to solve the greatest problem facing mankind today. Colonizing the Polar Wastes was a messy and fruitless business. And the Enforced Birth Control Program couldn’t be enforced. Overpopulation still remains the thorn in our side. Gentlemen--” He paused to look each of the assembled reporters in the eye. “--there is but one answer.”

“Mass annihilation?” quavered a cub reporter.

“Posh, boy! Certainly not!” The professor bristled. “The answer is--TIME!”

“Time?”

“Exactly,” nodded Ohms. With a dramatic flourish he swept aside a red velvet drape--to reveal a tall structure of gleaming metal. “As witness!”

“Golly, what’s that thing?” queried the cub.

“This thing,” replied the professor acidly, “--is the C. Cydwick Ohms Time Door.”

“Whillikers, a Time Machine!”

“Not so, not so. Please, boy! A Time Machine, in the popular sense, is impossible. Wild fancy! However--” The professor tapped the dottle from his pipe. “--by a mathematically precise series of infinite calculations, I have developed the remarkable C. Cydwick Ohms Time Door. Open it, take but a single step--and, presto! The Past!”