Where did you really get them?' said the Medical Man.

The Time Traveller put his hand to his head. He spoke like one who

was trying to keep hold of an idea that eluded him. 'They were put

into my pocket by Weena, when I travelled into Time.' He stared

round the room. 'I'm damned if it isn't all going. This room and you

and the atmosphere of every day is too much for my memory. Did I

ever make a Time Machine, or a model of a Time Machine? Or is it all

only a dream? They say life is a dream, a precious poor dream at

times--but I can't stand another that won't fit. It's madness. And

where did the dream come from? ... I must look at that machine. If

there is one!'

He caught up the lamp swiftly, and carried it, flaring red, through

the door into the corridor. We followed him. There in the flickering

light of the lamp was the machine sure enough, squat, ugly, and

askew; a thing of brass, ebony, ivory, and translucent glimmering

quartz. Solid to the touch--for I put out my hand and felt the rail

of it--and with brown spots and smears upon the ivory, and bits of

grass and moss upon the lower parts, and one rail bent awry.

The Time Traveller put the lamp down on the bench, and ran his hand

along the damaged rail. 'It's all right now,' he said. 'The story I

told you was true. I'm sorry to have brought you out here in the

cold.' He took up the lamp, and, in an absolute silence, we

124

The Time Machine