The Gentleman From 1887

On May 3rd 1887 the Sonora earthquake occurred in the Teras Mountain range of northwestern Mexico. Damage was recorded up to 200 kilometers or 120 miles away. The resulting underground shockwave was unique as it tilted underground plates setting off a continuous movement deep in the earth, which moved normal faults, just enough to have a ripple effect that crept across the Americas and ended off of the East coast of New York on September 4, 1887.

DATELINE: JANUARY 15, 2071, PLACE: THE HISTORY TRACKING CENTER, NEW YORK CITY

John Hyder entered the History Trackers conference room carrying a brown bag and a fistful of napkins. Alexis Shuntly sat at the center of the long mahogany conference table with her elbows resting on it and her fingers intertwined as they supported her chin. The bangs of her dark black hair almost covered her thick glasses as she peered at her computer screen. She looked up and sat back in her high-backed leather chair and said as she grinned, “Hello John. Did you know that Mickey Mouse was first known as Mortimer Mouse?”

“Hi Alexis,” he answered as his brow wrinkled in thought for a moment. “Yes. I remember seeing a video that showed the Disney cartoon. The cartoon was Steamboat Willie and it was Disney’s wife, Lillian, who suggested that he rename him Mickey Mouse. They said that Mickey Mouse was his favorite character.”

She grinned again and admitted, “I always liked Daisy Duck the best.”

“Me? I liked Pluto the dog. In fact my first dog was named Pluto.” He pushed back his longish blond hair and settled his six-foot plus frame into one of the leather chairs opposite Alexis. He tilted his head towards the hologram she was watching and asked, “What’s up? Anything new?”

“Nope. Same old stuff . . . which is good news in our business.” She picked up the last hologram of her shift, dropped it into the reader and sat back to watch it. Alexis easily recognized the New York City skyline from two hundred feet up in the air even though the buildings were not as tall as they would soon be. She squinted at the small type in the lower right hand corner of the hologram and saw that the date was September 4, 1887.

“Central Park,” she muttered to herself.

“What year, Alexis?”

“1887. It’s September so all of the beautiful foliage is still green.”

The scene shifted slightly as the flying pigeon robot flew over one of the many serpentine walkways through the park. It was on its way back to the History Tracker’s Group and by chance came upon a small crowd of people gathered in front of a park bench that was empty. The latest model robots from the History Trackers Group were given a small amount of flexibility in their powerful internal computer memory and instead of flying past the group the ‘bot landed in a tree above them. It silently used its video and audio on the crowd for five minutes before flying off to deliver it’s hologram to the History Tracking Robotic Department. From there the hologram ended up in the History Watcher’s Group’s in-box for review and that’s what Alexis was watching.

“That’s funny,” she said as she zoomed in on the group.

“What’s that?”

“Come see.” John walked around the table and pulled a chair over next to his co-worker.

She pointed at the screen. “The robot just happened to scan the crowd as it was returning from a mission. It must have triggered something in its computer because it landed in the tree above them and videoed them.” She zoomed in. “I wonder why they are standing in front of an empty park bench?”

John got closer to the screen. “Alexis, they all seem to be carrying books. See if you can zoom in on the book under the guy in the tan suit’s arm.”

She turned the small black knob on the hologram reader and the book almost filled the screen. She said as she read the title, “Strange Case of Dr Jekyll and Mr. Hyde.”

John pointed to another man holding a book, “Try to see what this guy is reading.” She zoomed in and they both read the copy on the spine at the same time, “Kidnapped.”

They looked at each other. “That’s two books written by Robert Lewis Stevenson,” Alexis said as she zoomed in on a young lady holding a book and once again read, “An Inland Voyage.”

“They’re all written by Stevenson,” exclaimed Alexis. “I wonder why?” She reached for the knob that turned up the audio and raised the volume. “Nothing,” she said.

“Wait, I think I heard a sob,” said John softly. “Make it louder. She did and suddenly intermingled with the sounds of the park, sobbing could be heard.

“There are more than one crying,” he said quietly. “But why?”

“Let’s see what year he passed away,” Alexis said as she went to the powerful computer at the end of the conference room. She powered it up and after signing in entered: What year did Robert Lewis Stevenson pass away? In a moment the screen showed, Robert Lewis Stevenson passed away on December 3, 1894.

“Well,” she said as she printed it out, “we know that at the time of the hologram he was still alive.”

John raised his eyebrows, “Was he? Or has he died and what we are seeing is a group of fans sort of like on the anniversary of John Lennon’s death when hundreds of his fans show up in front of the Dakota Hotel where he was killed?”

“Mmm . . . maybe. One of them has a folded newspaper under his arm let me zoom in on it and see if we can get more information.” She moved the curser over the folded newspaper and once again zoomed in. She studied it and then sat back and said, “I have to call the group together. The newspaper said that he was hit in the head with a rock at eleven ten in the morning in Central Park and died the day before this hologram was made.”

Knowing that a member of the Robotic/Hologram Group always sat outside of the conference room door whenever a History Watcher worked, she opened the door.

Cathy Avalone was on duty and sat on the chair outside of the room reading an E-book. She looked up as Alexis stepped out into the hallway.

“Hello Ms. Shuntly. Can I help you?”

“Hello Cathy. Will you please call the group together and set up a robotic mission for me?”

“Certainly,” she said as she stood. “Do you have the coordinates ready for the ‘bot?”

“No. But it will be ready when you get back.”

“Very well,” she said as she walked quickly down the hallway.

Thirty minutes later the door opened and the rest of the History Trackers Group entered. They usually took the same seats when there was a meeting and today was no different as a smiling Joseph Sergi, another six foot plus member sat and as usual pushed back the lock of black hair that dangled in front of his eyes. Next to him sat Maryellen Muldey, a short mid-sixty-something member with pure white hair that seemed to reflect the overhead recessed lights. Finally Jerry Sullivan, a heavy-set always smiling member with a full head of wavy hair who continually cleaned his already clean glasses, took his seat.

After their greetings all around Alexis briefed the group. “I’m sure you all know of the author Robert Lewis Stevenson and his works. Well it looks as though there is a hiccup in time and he seems to have passed away in 1887, years before the history books say he did.”

“He wrote some of my favorite novels,” said Jerry, “In fact he wrote many novels that will not be written if he passes away in 1887. What was the cause of death?”

“He was hit in his head with a rock as he sat in Central Park.”

Jerry shook his head, “Did it say where the rock that killed him came from?”

“No,” she answered, “but I have the hologram group sending out a robot to September 3, 1887 at eleven ten in the morning and try and catch the moment.” She looked at her watch and went on, “The ‘bot group said we should have a hologram in about one hour. Now that we are all in the area, why not break for coffee and come back in an hour.”

Cathy Avalone opened the door of the Hologram/Robotics Department and entered to see her supervisor Ted Mehan checking out one of the group’s new robots.

“Hi, Cathy. Did the History Trackers Group close up early today?”

“No, we have a mission.”

He quickly placed the ‘bot down and turned his full attention to her. “Local or out of country?”

“Local, New York City.”

“Year?”

“1887.” She handed him the mission statement and said, “I’ll go back in case they need something else.”

“Okay,” he said as he started to read the mission. “I’ll get this one on its way.” Ted read for a moment then went to the room’s wall-to-wall shelves that held the many types of robots that the History Trackers Group required. He selected a small gray, black and white pigeon. “Hey little one. I’ve got a mission for you. What’s more common than seeing a pigeon in New York’s Central Park?” Ted read the status ticket attached to its leg. Flight status: Ready. Hologram camera: Inspected. Infrared camera: Installed 1-3-70. He opened the small belly hatch and took out a lead, which he attached to his computer and typed in the information that the group needed. Next he placed a small powerful battery in it. “No rocket motor needed for this mission just plain old wing power.” Finished, he picked up the ‘bot and went up to the Time Transfer Door where Fred Murphy, the security guard greeted him from behind his desk.

“Hello Ted. Going back?”

“Yep Fred, going back to 1887.”

The security guard turned a computer to face Ted and the time traveler signed in and entered the date he was going to. Next he took a pair of nose filters and said as he opened the door, “Thanks, Fred. It’s a short run for the ‘bot so I’m going to wait for it to return. See you in about an hour.” He walked down the stone steps and at the bottom opened his Time Frequency Modulator and entered September 3, 1887, 10:30 A.M. He then used the key around his neck and unlocked the door before pressing the activate button on his TFM and then opened the door.

DATELINE: SEPTEMBER 3, 1887, 10:30 A.M. PLACE: THE 1800 CLUB’S GARDEN, NEW YORK CITY

Ted stepped out into the still lush garden and took a deep breath only to find it laced with the odors of horse waste, pollen and the East River. He sneezed and quickly placed the filters into his nostrils. Won’t do that again, he thought as he sat a moment on one of the stone benches. Ted quickly opened the bird ‘bot’s belly hatch and depressed the activate button then closed and locked the hatch. “Up you go fella,” he said as he tossed the mechanical pigeon up into the air. He sat back down on the bench as the ‘bot started to flap its wings as it circled the walled-in garden before it climbed to two hundred feet and headed towards Central Park.

The mechanical pigeon blended in perfectly with the thousands of other pigeons that flew in and around the great park. It flew the course that it was programmed to fly and after ten minutes it started to circle an area that had a flagstone path with stone and wood benches on either side of it. The bench it was programmed to video had two well-dressed men sitting on it and the man on the left was the one that the ‘bot was was locked in on. It settled on a tree facing both men and the first thing it did was perform a 360-degree inspection of the area.

Two women were walking together along the path from the right while another woman pushed a baby carriage along the path heading from the left. On the grass about twenty feet behind the two-seated men were a group of boys playing near a small pond. One picked up a small rock and tossed it into the water and watched as it skipped along on the surface. Seeing the result the rest of the boys immediately joined in tossing rocks across the pond. The ‘bot watched as one of the bigger boys tossed a heavy rock that flew over the pond and struck one of the two seated men in the head causing him to fall off the bench and strike his head on the path’s cement flagstones. The ‘bot kept recording as the other man quickly kneeled down to assist him and the group of boys scattered. After a small crowd had gathered the ‘bot pigeon flapped its wings and lifted off of the branch. In ten minutes it was perched on the forearm of Ted in the club’s garden. He quickly entered JANUARY 15, 2071 into his TFM and entered the building through the security door before depressing the activate button.

DATELINE: JANUARY 15, 2071 PLACE: THE HISTORY TRACKERS GROUP, NEW YORK CITY

The door of the History Trackers conference room opened and Alexis looked up with a smile as the group returned and took their seats at the long mahogany table. She was about to tell them that the hologram wasn’t ready yet when there was a knock at the door and she went and opened it.

“Perfect timing, Ted,” she said as the young man handed her a hologram.

“I’ll be right outside of the door if you need me Ms. Shuntly.”

Alexis inserted the six-inch silver cylinder into the hologram reader and pressed the start button. The scene showed the flight path from the club’s garden to Central Park, the two men on the bench, the boys playing and the final moments of the life of author Robert Lewis Stevenson before returning to the garden.

“My word!” whispered Alexis with a shake of her head.

Joseph raised his hand and said, “This must not happen. We have to send someone back to prevent it from becoming history.”

“Did anyone see who the other man was?” asked Maryellen. All shook their head or shrugged their shoulders and she added, “Samuel Clemens, otherwise known as Mark Twain. The two writers were together in the park when this happened.”

“Is this something new or were they really together in the park?” asked Jerry as he wiped his glasses with his shirtsleeve.

“No,” answered Maryellen, “both men used to sit and talk for hours about story-lines and such. Actually Mark Twain lived in New York for a time.”

Jerry stood and started his usual when-in-deep-thought walking back and forth with his hands deep in his tan corduroy pants pockets. “I would think that this would be an easy fix. Just alert Bill Scott in the 1800 Club and have someone go back and stop the kids from throwing rocks.” He stopped and looked at the group before adding, “Right?”

“Sounds right to me,” said Alexis. She looked around the table for the obvious answer and all gave a thumbs up. “Good. I’ll make a hologram and get it to Bill as fast as I can.” The group started to push back their chairs as she added, “Thanks guys. I’ll keep you all informed.”

Twenty minutes later she opened the door and smiled as Ted looked up from his Robotic Weekly magazine and asked, “Need anything Ms. Shuntly?”

“Yes, Ted. Will you get this hologram to Edmund Scott and have him deliver it to Bill Scott of the 1800 Club?”

“Certainly.”

She watched as Ted went down the hallway and the mission to save Robert Lewis Stevenson began.

DATELINE: JANUARY 15, 2016 PLACE: DIAMOND’S BAR & GRILL, NEW YORK CITY

Bill Scott sat at the end of the long bar, his usual place when it was available. He folded and placed his jacket on the tall backless chrome and red plastic stool before looking up to see Paddy Diamond heading down the bar towards him carrying a tall mug of beer. The big white haired Irishman plopped the mug down in front of his old friend and put out a large hand as he said, “Glory be! Billy Scott himself. Tell me, lad, where have ya been? I haven’t set eyes on you for at least one month.”

“Hello Paddy,” Bill answered as they shook hands. “Just over in New Jersey closing a deal. How’ve you been?”

“Just fine, and you?”

“The same. No sense in moaning about it.”

“Right ya are,” he said with a wink, “Just have a beer and carry on. That’s what my old dad always said.”

“He was a good man. I bet you’re proud of him.”

“I am, I really am. And his dad and his dad’s dad as well.” He turned and swept the air around him, “Look what those crazy Irishmen did: Left home when they were just saplings and came halfway around the world to set up a bar and grill that’s still in business today.” He shook his head and with a soft smile added, “Strong men, Billy, real strong men.”

“They were and I’m proud to have known your dad.”

Paddy wiped the bar with a rag that seemed to come out of nowhere, “Are you gonna eat today?”

“Yep! I’m supposed to meet Pat Gelardi here and have a steak dinner with him.”

“Say no more, my friend. I’m gonna leave ya here right now and go and get a couple of steaks ready for you two.”

Bill watched the, wide-as-he-is-tall man walked towards the other end of the bar, his footsteps heavy on the wooden duckboards.

Paddy is a fine man, he thought as he took a pull on his cold beer. And I am glad to have met his dad and, unknown to him, his grandfather as well. He smiled to himself as he continued with his thoughts; In fact I still go back and have a beer with them every so often.

Just then the door behind him opened and as the door at the other end of the bar was also open a small blast of air went down the length of the bar making more than a few dollar bills take flight. But as he did whenever the door opened behind him, Bill quickly glanced at the moose head mounted over the arch that led to the second door to see the long cobwebs that hung from its chin dance in the breeze.

A slap on his back was accompanied by the baritone voice of his friend Patty Gelardi saying, “Hello Bill. Good to see you again.”

He turned and both men shook hands. Patty was a five-foot ten-inch slim seventy-year old man who looked as though he was in his early fifties. He wore his black and gray wavy hair on the long side and his black mustache was always trimmed to perfection. Bill moved his jacket as Patty removed the dark sunglasses that attached to his thick glasses with a small clip and put them in his pocket as he sat on the stool.

“How’ve you been?”

Bill returned his smile and answered, “Just fine, how about you, Patty?”

He patted his friend’s back, “I’m fine.”

The bar owner returned and the two men shook hands. He asked as he placed a cold mug of beer in front of Patty, “How have ya been, Patty? Still singing?”

“Yep! My group has a gig coming up in Staten Island. You should come and see us sometime, Paddy.”

The big man waved his hand “Patty, I’ve heard you guys singing for years on the corner so what’s new?”

Patty grinned, “Well we do have a few new songs since then.”

“Doo-Wop?”

“Not all Doo-Wop. Did you ever hear our version of ‘Danny Boy’? You would love it.”

“Maybe, just maybe I’ll pop up over there. Now. Is it still steak and potatoes that ya want gents?”

Both answered, “Yep!”

“Rare, for me,” added Patty and seconded by Bill. The barman walked away with the order.

“So, Bill have you been busy? I haven’t seen you around for a bit.”

“Yes, doing a few things here and there,” he hefted his glass and tapped his friend’s glass as he went on, “But I remembered our dinner date.”

“That you did and that makes me think that there might be hope for the younger generation after all.”

Bill laughed as he took a swig. “Matt says hello.”

“How is Matt these days? Please tell him that I said hello and I owe him a nice big Italian dinner after he catered my ‘Oldies Night Review.’ I still get congrats from many of the attendees.”

“Boy, that was a time ago. How fast time flies.”

Patty nodded and said in a low tone of voice, “Yes. August 2. That’s a date I’ll never forget.”

“Because Matt’s cooking was so good?”

“Naw! Because on that date back in 1957 I lost the ring my dad gave me.” He shook his head, “I’ll never forget the look in his eyes as I told him. It was his dad’s and I lost it.”

“Any idea where?”

Patty drained his beer, “Yes. I was with my cousin Nicky, George Adjami and Larry the Bop singing down in the subway station on Ninth Street and Seventh Avenue and it must have slipped off. We went home and that’s when I discovered it missing. I ran back to the spot but it was gone.”

The heavy footfalls on the duckboards told the two men that Paddy had their steaks ready. He placed the dinners before them and quickly added two more beers.

One hour later the two men chatted over coffee.

“I know that you’re a busy man, Bill, but if you find an opening on your calendar I’d love to see you at our next show.” He passed him two tickets.”

Bill looked at the tickets and put them in his jacket pocket. “Patty, I’d love to come and hear you guys. You know I love Doo-Wop.”

Patty patted him on his back, “It’s not whether a person likes or dislikes Doo-Wop, it’s the beautiful group harmony.”

“Let me check my calendar and if I’m clear I’ll be there.”

“Well I better be off,” said Patty as he stood and stretched. “We have rehearsals tonight.”

They left the bar and outside on the corner Bill said, “Patty it was a great evening as usual.”

“Next one’s on me, Bill.”

“I’m going to hold you to that my friend.” They shook hands that became a man-hug then both took a taxi in opposite directions.

It was when his taxi was in the middle of the Brooklyn Bridge that Bill thought as he looked at his watch, Eight o’clock. I know what I have to do.

Back at the club Bill spotted the small yellow stick-it paper on his desk. It read, Sir. I have taken Samson back to 1898 for a walk. While I’m there I shall pick up some chocolate pudding filled Blackout Cake from Ebingers bakery for dessert. Hope to be back at nine o’clock. Matt. Bill grinned and thought, so that’s why my beagle wasn’t at the door looking for a treat.

He took the stairs up to the club’s top floor and opened the door to the very large clothing section. He went to the 1957 style clothing section and selected an outfit for his trip. Next he visited the currency room and took fifty dollars in bills and two more in coins. He then opened the next door and took three diamonds and slipped them into the hidden compartment in the wide black belt he was going to wear. Back downstairs in his room he quickly dressed and looked at himself in his full-length mirror. He wore a black tee shirt beneath his black leather motorcycle jacket and jeans with a wide black leather belt. He looked down at his brown heavily scuffed motorcycle boots and pulled up his jacket collar in the fashion of the day. Next he ran his fingers through his dark hair and then had to wipe off the excess Brylcreem hair tonic from his fingers.

“Ready, Mister Scott?” he asked himself and answered to the reflection in the mirror, “Ready as I’ll ever be, daddy-o.”

Bill went to his desk and took a yellow stick-it and wrote on it, Matt it’s 8:25 P.M. I stepped back to Brooklyn on August 2, 1957. Ninth Street and Seventh Avenue to be exact. I’ll be back in two hours. Bill.

Using the key on the chain around his neck Bill opened the door at the rear of his den and stepped out onto the landing and closed the door behind him. He looked at the red brick walls and grinned as his shadow created by the gas lamps made him look to be ten feet tall. The heavy motorcycle boots thumped on each step he took and finally at the bottom he used the same key once again to unlock the heavy steel security door at the end of the stairwell. Before he stepped out he opened his small Time Frequency Modulator and entered in his password, SAMSON followed by AUGUST 2, 1957, 6 P.M. He pressed the activate button and stepped out into the garden.

DATELINE: AUGUST 2, 1957, 6 P.M. PLACE: THE 1800 CLUB’S GARDEN, NEW YORK CITY

The sun was slowly sinking in the sky and the lush garden was quiet as most of the birds were settling down for the night. The butterflies disappeared and in a few hours would be replaced by fireflies. Bill went to a small tree next to the waterfall that constantly flowed into the goldfish pond. At the tree’s base was an old fashion milk crate, which had the goldfish food in it. He took a large pinch and sprinkled it on the surface of the pond and was rewarded with the sight of the beautiful fish feeding.

Using the same key Bill unlocked the wrought iron gate at the end of the high stonewalls that surrounded the garden and stepped out onto the gray slate sidewalk before locking the gate behind him. At the curb sat his 1950 red two door Ford and he smiled proudly as he took out his car keys. Before he opened the door he wiped away some sap on the windshield. The sticky sap came from the tall oak tree that spread its branches over ten feet from its trunk. Satisfied, he unlocked the door, sat and inserted the ignition key. Next Bill pulled out the hand choke slightly, depressed the clutch and pressed the ignition button. Instantly the starter motor engaged and after cranking for a moment the V-8 flat-head engine came to life with a roar that was amplified by the twin chrome fiberglass exhaust pipes. He touched the two fuzzy dice that hung from his rear-view mirror and smiled as he remembered his fiancé tossing darts at balloons in Coney Island and winning them for him.

When the engine was warmed up Bill pushed the choke back in, put the car in first gear and pulled smoothly away from the curb.

He drove down Broadway and over the Brooklyn Bridge, up Flatbush Avenue and turned right on Seventh Avenue. Once at Ninth Street he looked for a parking spot, something that was getting harder and harder to do these days. He found one two blocks away and after parking the Ford he walked to the subway station on 7th Avenue and 9th Street where he heard what he had come here for: Original Doo-Wop songs. The sound of four young guys singing in harmony in the subway.

The walls and ceiling of the New York City subway system were made of white and black ceramic tiles. They were a perfect setting for groups who couldn’t afford a studio’s echo chamber as they gave the singers an echo for free and there was no worry about rushing before the next group would come into a rented studio.

Bill met Patty Gelardi in Diamond’s Bar & Grill when Patty was bartending one evening in 2002 and they became good friends. Although Bill was forty years his junior the two had common ground in their love of music. Patty Gelardi who moved from Brooklyn to Staten Island, New York is a walking music encyclopedia, to whom Bill lost many a dinner-bet.

The time traveler stood near the street entrance to the subway listening to the young group warming up and finally breaking into a few songs that would become Doo-Wop classics over the years. Bill went down the subway steps and saw that the group had an audience of commuters who had stopped to listen. He joined them and added his applause as the teens sang Whispering Bells followed by Little Darlin’. Some of the spectators left to go home or catch a train, but they were quickly replaced as another subway train unloaded more commuters. The group sang for another hour before going back up to the street and separated as they had school the next day. Bill quickly looked over the space where the group stood as they sang and after a moment saw Patty’s ring resting on a drain grating ready to slip down and be swept away forever. He scooped it up and ran back up the same exit the group used and saw Patty a block away. He walked fast and when he was within shouting distance called out, “Patty.”

The 17 year old stopped and squinted as he tried to see who called him.

“Patty,” Bill said as he approached him with his hand out. “One of you guys dropped this.”

Patty’s eyes opened wide when he saw the ring his father had given him. “Wow! That’s my ring! My dad gave it to me and he’d be angry if I ever lost it. Thanks a lot, man. I really appreciate it.” He slipped it into his pocket and added, “Sometimes I just become oblivious to everything when we are rehearsing.”

“You guys sounded great.”

He shrugged, “Aw, thanks. Maybe we’ll be discovered.”

“Well even if you don’t, keep doing what you like. It’s the key to a good life.”

Patty offered his hand and as they shook hands he said, “Once again, man, thanks tons.”

“Have a great life my friend.”

Bill got back to his car and was back in the club’s garden by 10 P.M. He opened his Time Frequency Modulator and entered his password followed by JANUARY 15, 2016, 10:00 P.M. Next he opened the security door and entered the stairwell. Once inside he locked the door behind him and pressed the activate button.

DATELINE: JANUARY 15, 2016 10:00 P.M. PLACE: THE 1800 CLUB, NEW YORK CITY

He took the stairs two at a time and opened the door to his den. His beagle Samson ran to him and did his sniff test to find a treat which Bill took out of his pocket and gave to him. “Good boy. Now sit awhile while I finish my trip.” He opened his computer and went to YouTube Videos and entered ‘The Expressions of Staten Island.’ As the computer searched he thought, Boy, Patty had a great career. He sang with ‘Just Voices,’ and so many other groups and now he sings with the Expressions over in Staten Island. The computer showed that YouTube had found the group and Bill pressed the play button and sat back as one of the originators of Doo-Wop sang lead.
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=hHc0lyaWvpw

There was a tap on his door and Matt entered carrying a silver tray with a thick slice of dark chocolate cake and Bill’s Donald Duck mug of hot chocolate. “Good evening, sir. I thought you might enjoy some dessert after your dinner with Mister Gelardi. Hot chocolate and Blackout cake?”

Bill rubbed his hands together and said with a smile, “Matt, once again you hit a home run!”

Matt placed the tray on the coffee table, “Thank you for that kind analogy, sir. I’m sure you meant it as a ‘well done.’”

Bill smiled, “Of course I meant it as a ‘well done,’ Matt.”

There was a knock on the door that Bill had just come in through and both men looked at one another.

“Mmmm, wonder if this is the start of a new mission?” Bill said as he went to the door. He was pleasantly surprised to see his future grandson Edmund Scott standing on the landing with a big smile on his handsome face. “Edmund! Oh, great to see you. Come on in.”

“Hello Bill. It’s great to see you again.”

The two men hugged as Matt suddenly had to straighten out a picture that didn’t look crooked.

“Matt! How are you?”

“Quite fine, Mister Scott. And yourself?”

“Great! Its good to see you again.”

“Would you like some hot chocolate and cake, sir?”

“No, thanks anyway, Matt. I’m good.”

“Very well then I shall leave you two gentlemen alone. Please call if you wish anything sirs.” Matt left the room.

“Grab a seat, Ed and tell me what’s going on in your life.”

The young man shrugged as he sat. “Nothing much, but I see that you just came back from a trip or are you just stepping back now?”

“Just got back ten minutes ago.”

“From your clothes I’d say 1955?”

“Actually 1957, but the style also ran 1955 to around 1958 or ’59.”

Edmund shook his head. “Wow! That has to be fun.”

“It is. It really is, but sometimes it gets hairy. Wait until you read the debrief on our last trip back. Believe me it was bone chilling.”

The young man reached into his inside jacket pocket and took out a hologram, which he handed to his grandfather. “The person running this mission is Alexis Shuntly.” Once again he shook his head, “Boy I’d love to take a trip back with you sometime.”

“Hey, why not? I mean if you wear those nostril filters we could do at least a short trip back. I say we look into it.”

“Great, but right now I’m going to leave you so you can check out the hologram.” He stood and Bill followed him to the special door that gives the 1800 Club a reason to exist. Bill opened it and the two hugged goodbye before Bill closed the door behind his future grandson.

Back at his coffee table he took a sip of his drink and a fork full of the dark chocolate cake. He took the six-inch long hologram holder and depressed the indent on its end with his thumb. Recognizing his thumbprint the hologram appeared on table top.

“Hello, Bill,” said the six-inch high figure of Alexis Shuntly. “The group all send their best to you and the club. Once again we are in need of your expertise, as this hologram will show. The two gentlemen are Robert Lewis Stevenson and Mark Twain. As usual anything you need, just ask and we’ll get it to you. Good luck.”

Bill sat back as the idyllic scene appeared before him. It seemed like a nice afternoon in the park with children playing in the green fields and mothers walked by pushing their baby carriages. A few of the boys started throwing stones across the small pond behind the two seated men and suddenly one of the men on the bench jerked forward and fell striking his head on the path’s cement pavers. His friend quickly stooped to help him as strollers ran over to see what happened. The hologram ended and Bill sat back. This should be an easy one, he thought, I’ll just go back and take a stroll in Central Park and prevent those kids from throwing rocks around.

Bill finished the cake and drink then went up to the club’s dressing room. He went to the section marked 1885 - 1900 and then to the smaller 1888 section. Knowing that the day the mission was on was warm and sunny he dressed appropriately. He selected a tan jacket and dark brown slacks held up by a pair of brown suspenders with a hidden money compartment in them. Next he picked out a white shirt and a dark brown floppy bow tie of the period. Finally he picked out a dark brown wide-brimmed fedora with a black sweatband, a pair of brown socks and low-cut brown shoes. He then left the room and opened the door to the monetary room next to it. Inside he went to a section marked 1885 to 1900 and then to the smaller section marked 1888. Bill opened a steel box mounted on a wooden shelf and removed fifty dollars in paper money and one dollar in coins. He opened another steel box and took a diamond as he thought, One should do it. He closed the lid, took a step away and stopped. Don’t be stupid, Bill. Take the required amount of emergency currency. He stepped back and took another two diamonds and placed the three gems in his suspender’s hidden compartment.

Back in his den he called Matt on the intercom.

“Yes, sir?”

“Matt, Edmund dropped off a hologram and I decided to jump back and take care of it. I’ve already changed and will be back no later then five o’clock this afternoon. I’m leaving a yellow stick-it with the information on my desk.”

“Very well, sir. I’ll have a warm snack ready for you this afternoon. Safe trip.”

“Thanks. See you soon.” Bill took a stick-it sheet and wrote down where and when he would be, placed it on his desk and put a glass paperweight on it. He knelt by the leather couch where his beagle Samson was curled up as he watched his master. “Be a good boy, Samson and I’ll bring you back a T-R-E-A-T . . .” he laughed at having to spell the word knowing that if the dog heard him say, ‘treat’ he’d jump up looking for a treat now. He then unlocked the door at the rear of his den and went down the stone steps to the ground floor. The time traveler took out his compact Time Frequency Modulator and entered his password followed by SEPTEMBER 3, 1887, 10:00 A.M. He pressed the activate button, opened the heavy security door and stepped out.

DATELINE: SEPTEMBER 3, 1887, 10:00 A.M. PLACE: THE 1800 CLUB’S GARDEN, NEW YORK CITY

Bill entered the garden and now wished that he had added on a few more minutes so that he could sit on one of the stone benches next to the pond for a minute or two. For reasons only known by nature the goldfish were splashing around as they chased one and other. They created such a fuss that he pond’s small frog climbed out and sat on a stone.

As it was September the garden was still lush and he loved sitting here and enjoying a cigar as Samson sniffed every inch of ‘his’ garden. Another reason he liked sitting here was that the fragrance from the multitude of flowers masked most of the horse waste odor in the air. Taking as much time as he could he followed the slate slab path that led to the garden’s tall wrought iron gate with his key out. He opened it and then locked it behind him. Bill marveled at how quiet it was compared to his time. No roar of a city bus or delivery truck. No blare of a taxicab nor rumble and roar of a motorcycle would be heard for the next bunch of years. True, he thought as he wrinkled his nose, the horsepower of the day had its drawbacks even if noise was not one of them. His observations proved correct as a woman walking across the street called out to another who walked towards Bill and she could be heard clearly.

“Donna! Don’t go to Harry’s Meat Shop any more. He raised his prices two cents for every pound of meat.”

Donna stopped and called back, “What? I’m on my way there this very moment! Perhaps I’ll walk another two blocks to Miller’s Meats. Thank you Carin.”

Bill smiled at the thought of these two women who had this conversation over one hundred years earlier while in his time the same type conversation was still going on but with dollars rather than pennies.

He decided to take a horse drawn trolley rather than a cab and walked over to Fifth Avenue. There was a small group of people standing on every other corner waiting for the trolley and he saw two coming down the line with a city block between them. Bill waited for most of the people to board the first one and he waited for the second one knowing that it would be much less crowded. He helped an elderly woman dressed in a long black dress up the first step and followed her into the trolley as the driver snapped the reins and the horse started to pull the vehicle down the tracks. There was a tin plate on a stand next to the operator who stared straight ahead as the woman dropped two pennies onto the plate. The sound of the coins pinging on the plate told the driver that she had paid her fare. Bill dropped his coins onto the plate and followed her inside. The seats were made of smooth wood and most of the windows were open and as it happens on any bus, train or trolley the window seats were mostly all taken. Bill found an empty window seat at the rear and sat down as the trolley rolled along on its steel tracks. He watched as people just crossed the street wherever they wished almost getting hit by carriages, trolleys and delivery wagons. They avoided all of these while stepping gingerly over horse waste, missing cobblestones, trash and a few small animals that didn’t make it across the wide street. He was amazed at the skill of the drivers of the cabs and wagons as they seemed to enter and exit the moving caravan with ease. He also saw a cat being chased by a dog and to make its escape it climbed deftly up and over a horse and then onto another horse going in the opposite direction. Both horses stood on their rear legs as the drivers stood and pulled the reins tightly to keep them from running. He sat back and grinned as he thought, Driving a single or a team of horses is a lost art.

Finally at Fifty-ninth Street the trolley emptied out and he stood at the corner of Fifth Avenue and Central Park. Bill checked his pocket watch and saw that he had fifteen minutes to get to the bench with the two men sitting on it. He walked slowly along the curving path as children ran past and mothers and nannies called out after them. There was a large group of pigeons eating breadcrumbs that an elderly man tossed out of a brown paper bag onto the pavers. The time traveler walked at an even pace through the feeding group and watched as instead of flying away, the pigeons simply parted and regrouped before and after each footstep. Mmm, he thought, Even the pigeons are New Yorkers . . . nothing seems to disturb them.

Finally Bill saw his mission. Three benches away sat two men chatting as they basked in the sun. Stevenson was dressed in a black jacket and tan pants while Twain wore a gray suit and floppy southern style gray hat. Both men wore white dress shirts, black string bowties and low-cut black shoes. While Stevenson’s hair was longish and black, Twain’s was longish and gray. Both wore their mustaches long and droopy.

Five young boys played behind them near a small pond and one skipped a stone across the water. Bill stepped onto the grass and walked towards the seated men and as he got between them and the boys he called out, “Hey! Don’t be throwing rocks. There are little kids around.” The boys dropped the stones and ran as Bill turned and saw that the two men had turned towards him at the sound of his voice. He smiled, tipped his hat and took a few steps back towards the road when one of the boys stopped, turned and threw his rock. Bill caught the movement out of the corner of his eye and quickly leaped towards the man it was headed for. He stumbled and fell as he reached out and deflected the rock that would have hit the man in his head. Quickly both men rose and ran towards him.

“Sir! Are you hurt?” asked Stevenson as he took Bill by the arm.

“No. No, thank you.”

“If not for you, sir that rock would have hit me. Come sit on the bench.”

Bill rubbed his hand, which was slightly swollen.

“Mighty fine move, my friend. Quick as a Mississippi bullfrog, ” said Mark Twain. “Let me see your hand.”

“It’s nothing. It’ll be fine.”

“Once again I thank you sir. I’m Robert Stevenson,” he said as he offered his hand.

Bill took it and replied as they shook, “Bill Scott, pleased to meet you, sir.” He turned to Mark Twain as the other writer said, “And I’m Mark Twain, Mister Scott.”

“Please call me Bill. Glad I was strolling by.”

“Heck,” said Stevenson pointing at his head, “so am I.”

“Sir,” said Twain, “we two were just trying to decide where to have a bite to eat and maybe have a sip of something stronger than water. Would you care to join us?”

“I’d be honored.”

“So,” asked Twain to Stevenson, “have you decided on what place would have us, Robert?”

“Nope. I say we ask Bill where he would go to fill your check list.”

“I do know a place that has the best steak dinners and also serves drinks stronger than water. Have you ever been to Diamond’s Bar and Grill?”

“Diamonds?” quipped Twain as he pushed back his southern style hat, “With a name like that I just gotta visit it.”

Thirty minutes later the three sat at the bar of Paddy Diamonds. Bill smiled as the great grandfather of the Paddy Diamond that he had just visited came down the bar to them with an outstretched hand. “Bill Scott! How are ya lad?”

“Fine Paddy. I’d like to introduce Robert Stevenson and Mark Twain.”

The two men shook hands as Paddy furrowed his brow. “Would that, by any chance, be the two great authors Robert Lewis Stevenson and Mark Twain?”

Twain turned to the other writer and in a low voice said, “Best we run Stevenson, they’re on to us.”

Bill and Paddy laughed as Paddy asked, “What are ya drinkin’ sirs?”

“Wine for me,” said Stevenson.

“And bourbon for me, sir,” said Twain.

“And a beer for you, Bill?” asked the bar owner.

“Not today, Paddy. I’ll have a bourbon and do you have any steaks and potatoes?”

“I do. Would ya like one?”

 

Bill looked at the two writers and both nodded, “Yes, three and make mine rare.”

“Same for me, said Twain as Stevenson nodded, “Same here.”

Thirty minutes later the three men were on their third drink as they enjoyed their lunch.

“What a great bar, Bill. Reminds me of a few along the Mississippi which I am familiar with.”

“I’ve been coming to Diamonds for years. It’s my favorite watering hole.”

Twain looked at him with a cocked eyebrow and said, “Funny saying. I knew a guy who used to say that.” He took out his pocket watch and said, “Two fifteen.” He snapped it closed and added with a determined look, “I say the sun is just too darn hot at 2:15 on a September day in New York City and we should stay right here an’ enjoy our new friend’s favorite watering hole. All in favor say aye.”

Bill hefted his glass and the three men touched glasses as they said, ’Aye’.”

It was seven thirty when the three men helped each other out of the bar.

“Sirs,” said Twain, “I insist that we meet at my place tomorrow evening for dinner. Are we all in agreement?”

Stevenson shrugged and nodded yes.

Looking at Bill Twain said with a twinkle in his eye as he patted his back, “And you my friend. You must be there as you single handily saved one of the world’s best authors.”

“Then I shall be there.” Bill fumbled with the small notebook he carried in his inside breast pocket and asked as he took out a pencil, “Where are you staying?”

“The Gilsey House at 95 Broadway. That’s right at 29th Street. I say you should be there at seven o’clock.”

After more handshakes the three men walked off in different directions.

Bill smiled at meeting the two writers. I have to reread the Mark Twain Mission again, he thought as he walked along. And I’ll have to tell Whitey Madden who became friends with Twain when he went back to save him, that I met him. I’m really looking forward to having dinner with those two guys.

Bill enjoyed his walk back as the quiet streets were on the dark side except for the small pools of flickering yellow light given off by the gaslights. Most of the apartment buildings had their windows open as the night was on the warm side and he could hear children laughing as they played in the hallways before bedtime. He passed a large policeman with a huge thick red mustache who was expertly twirling his wooden nightstick with one hand as he had the other behind his back. Bill turned the corner and passed three carriages standing there while the drivers stood smoking clay pipes as they passed the time waiting for a fare. At the last corner he turned and walked to the middle of the block and took out the key on the chain around his neck as he approached the garden’s gate.

Good to be home, he thought. I should have texted Matt to tell him that I’ll be late. He inserted the key into the keyhole and turned it only to feel no resistance. He took it out and looked at it before inserting it again only to get the same result. Bill stepped back and shook his head. “Phew. Take your time, Billy, take your time,” he advised himself as he slowly inserted the key again only to get the same result. “Broken,” he said. “Let me go around to the front door.” The weary time traveler walked around the corner and went up the six stone steps of the main entrance of the six-story Town House. He inserted the key and was flabbergasted to feel no resistance once again. “What the heck?” Bill actually went back down the steps and looked at the brass numbers on the mahogany and glass doors.”520,” he said as he went back up the steps and pressed his nose against the glass section of the door only to see the policeman who he had passed earlier watching him from the sidewalk. Bill turned and said, “Guess my key broke, officer.”

“Why not use the bell?”

It quickly dawned on him that he didn’t know who might answer the door in 1887. Because the building had not yet been electrified, the bell was a mechanical push-the-button and the clapper inside struck the bell. He made a gesture of ringing it and after a moment did it again before turning to the policeman and saying, “I guess my roommate is out as well.” He walked back down the steps. “I might as well go catch up with him in one of the local establishments. Good night officer.” He walked away at a leisurely pace with the policeman watching.

The last thing Bill wanted was tea but there was a late night teashop and he went in and sat at a table near the window.

“Tea, sir?”

He looked up and saw a matronly dark haired woman in a white uniform with a red apron on. “Yes, yes I’ll have a cup.” She headed away and Bill called after her, “Do you have any cakes or sandwiches?”

“Apple pie, that’s all that’s left sir.”

“I’ll have a slice please.”

Soon the time traveler sat sipping tea and eating pie both of which he really didn’t want. As he was at a corner table and the waitress was busy he took out his pocket communicator and entered SAMSON, his password, followed by, MATT. I’M HAVING A PROBLEM WITH THE LOCKS. WILL YOU COME DOWN AND OPEN THE GARDEN GATE FOR ME. I’M AT SEPTEMBER 4, 1887 AT 12:25 A.M. BILL. He pressed the send button and waited for Matt’s reply.

Thirty minutes later Bill thought as he looked at his second cup of tea, Matt must be in a deep sleep. Usually he hears the beeping of his communicator immediately.

“Closing time, sir. Time to go home.”

Bill looked up to see the waitress place a tab on his table. He stuffed his hand in his pocket and gave her one dollar for the twenty cent bill and said as he stood, “Thank you. Keep the change.”

He left the shop and walked back to the club’s front door. Making sure that the policeman wasn’t about he quickly went up the stairs and rang the bell. After one minute he pressed it again and finally kept jabbing the button. Nobody came to open the door.

Thankful that the weather was nice he sat on a bus stop bench where he could watch the door. After a while he saw the rays of the rising sun reflect off of the glass section of the doors. Bill took out the communicator and checked for the hundredth time: “Nothing!”

Eight o’clock in the morning he ate eggs and bacon in a diner on Broadway, finished his second cup of coffee and returned to the club. Once again there was no answer at the door.

I’m in trouble, he thought, as he walked along Ninth Avenue to no place in particular. It was twelve fifteen when he stopped in another diner. He sought the privacy of a booth and after ordering a cheese sandwich and soda pop took out his small pad and pencil. I wish I really had taken the time to check out the history of the club’s building, he thought. I know it was built in 1820 and purchased by the History Tracking Group from the future . . . but when? He rubbed his temples in frustration. I remember the ex-president of the club, Prescott Stevens telling me that he was from 1860 when the people of the future asked him for his help. I think he told me that he moved into the building in 1986 and started the 1800 Club. So the question is, did anyone live in the building from 1820 to 1986?

He counted his money and wrote down, Forty-seven dollars and nineteen cents. He quickly felt the three small bumps in his suspender’s secret compartment and thought with a smile, Thank the stars that I went back for the rest of the suggested emergency funds. He rubbed his chin and thought as he felt his whiskers, One thing that I never wanted to do was grow a beard and that means that I need a place to wash up. He sat up straight as more thoughts came to him, Wash up! I need more than to wash up! I need a place to sleep and a change of clothing as well. He counted his friends in 1887, Paddy Diamond and now Robert Lewis Stevenson and Mark Twain and of course Shirley Holmes. The two writers were in New York to give a talk then they’ll be gone. I have to try the club again.

He opened his communicator and entered, SAMSON followed by, MATT. WILL YOU OPEN THE GARDEN GATE FOR ME ON SEPTEMBER 4, 1887 AT 12:50 P.M. BILL. He pressed the send button, paid the bill and walked briskly over to the club’s garden gate.

Matt didn’t show up nor did he return his message.

There’s a problem with the time travel system, he thought as he put the communicator back in his pocket. He walked away with the beginnings of a plan.

Bill stopped in Malcom’s Men’s Shop and purchased a pair of black pants, tan jacket, white shirt with a stiff collar and a black string bow tie. Two pair of underwear and socks . . . his shoes could be worn with either outfit. Next he picked up a toothbrush, a tin of Rubifoam tooth powder, a shaving cup, bar of Kranks Shaving Soap, a straight razor and a hairbrush. He then took a cab down to the Cosmopolitan Hotel on 95 West Broadway between Chambers and Reade Streets. Just a twenty-block walk back to the club, he thought as he entered the huge lobby and was stopped short by its elegance. Bill rented a room for a week and paid the young man behind the desk three dollars. A bellhop carried his package up to room 201, unlocked the door and asked, “Are you familiar with gas light sir?”

“Yes, but I have no matches on me.”

The bellhop went to one of the three ‘L’ shaped gas pipes coming out of the walls, took a wooden match out of his pocket, scratched it on the leather sole of his shoe and removed the glass bowl. He put the lit match to the jet and turned the key. With a pop the gas lit and he put the bowl back over the flame. He then took six matches out of his pocket and placed them on the table with a reminder, “Remember, sir, strike the match first then turn the gas key.” Bill gave him a dime and he happily said, “Should you need anything sir, call for Johnny.”

The room mimicked the lobby in its plushness. Red and gold flocked wallpaper that made the gold framed paintings of old European sea scenes stand out covered three of the walls while the fourth was covered in blue silk that showcased the bed’s gold leaf headboard. The bed covers were gold and red silk and draped down on all four sides to an inch off of the thick red wall-to-wall carpet. The bed’s four posts were capped by white shear linen that was tied to each bedpost with red and gold-trimmed tiebacks. A round cherry wood table that converted into a card table was near the left wall and had four ornate chairs with gold trimmed red felt cushions tucked under it. Against the opposite wall stood a tall cherry wood armoire and next to it was a wide soft red leather couch with three red and gold trimmed throw pillows on it. In the corner was an open door that took him into the bathroom.

The walls and floor were done in what we would come to know as subway tiles. A pedestal sink with curved hot and cold handles stood at the left wall while above it hung a white, wood and glass medicine cabinet with a round fold-out shaving/make up mirror attached to it. At the far wall sat a porcelain bathtub. Besides the faucet and handles there was an extension that went vertical and ended in a showerhead. Above the tub suspended from the white plastered ceiling hung a shower curtain that at the moment was tied back. On the tiled floor near the bathtub was a round blue rug and against the wall on the right stood a tall radiator. All of this was shown off by the bright gas lamps on the right and left wall that reflected off of the white tiles.

Bill sat on the bed and realized how tired he was. He lay back and woke up three hours later. He looked at his pocket watch and quipped, “4:45 P.M. Time to get some sort of a plan together. First wash up and shave.”

The time traveler washed and shaved then put on his new outfit. “Now that feels good.” He smiled and thought, First time in a few years that you had to buy your own clothes, Bill, be sure you take care of them. He checked his watch again. “6:30. Let’s try Matt again.” He got his communicator and entered, SAMSON, followed by, MATT. CAN YOU READ THIS MESSAGE? BILL. He sat on one of the chairs and watched the blank screen for five minutes before turning the communicator off and putting it in his pocket. “Time to go meet with my new friends.” He left the hotel and walked over to The Gilsey House on Broadway and 29th Street.

It was a three story private house that rented rooms and Bill saw Twain’s name hand written on a calling card over one of the three round brass speaker tubes in the vestibule. He put his mouth close to the opening and called out, “Hello!” His call was quickly answered by Twain’s voice saying “Come on up. Second floor.”

Twain’s head appeared at the top of the stairs as Bill walked up. “Greetings, my friend. Perfect timing as I was about to say cheers to myself.”

The two men shook hands and Bill asked, “Robert’s not here yet?”

“Nope. He sent a message over this afternoon saying that he couldn’t make it but that we should enjoy ourselves just the same.”

“That’s too bad.”

Twain picked up a bottle of bourbon and said as he poured two drinks, “Well I suggest we take his advice and enjoy ourselves.”

They dined on roasted chicken that Twain had cooked to perfection, potatoes and onions and finished the meal with black coffee followed by another bourbon and a cigar. Bill thought he had never laughed so much as Twain told story after story of his growing up on the Mississippi River . . . most of which he admitted were made up. Bill told a few of his own but had to mentally check them as he told them in case he spoke ‘out of time.’ The two finished the bottle and Twain said, “Ain’t too many times that a man ain’t under the watchful eye of his spouse an’ this is one of them. I say we simply must go out and find a place that holds bourbon as dearly as we do. Do ya agree, Bill?”

“I agree, my friend, and I know the place . . .“

Both men said it at the same time, “Paddy Diamonds.”

The two men were greeted warmly by the big bar owner and the first round was on the house. Although they had eaten, after four drinks they wanted something to munch on and had the bar’s traditional ‘chicken dinner’: a hard-boiled egg. They followed that with a plate of pig’s knuckles. A few of the old timers left when the writer started to sing what he called ‘River songs’. After too many drinks the two men insisted that Paddy sit with them on their side of the bar and after an hour the place got slow enough for the big man to join them.

As he tipped back his floppy hat Twain said, “I suggest we have jus’ one more ta chase the first batch. What do ya say my friend?”

Bill hung his head in mock thought and finally answered as though he had won an argument with himself, “Mark, I do believe that you have another good idea.” He turned to Paddy who was resting his head on the bar, “Paddy don’t bother yourself, I’ll make this round.” He stood and walked wobbly down the bar to the entrance and picked up a new bottle of bourbon and filled their glasses. He left the bottle there before returning to his seat.

“Cheers!” said Twain as he held up his glass. The three men toasted each other and took a pull of the drink. Twain got up and walked down to the men’s restroom and Bill sat with his drink. He looked at his watch, Two o’clock! My gosh, I can’t keep this up . . . I have to find out where . . .where, ah, I need to find Matt. He shook his head as he continued his thoughts, I’ll just have one more. I mean it’s not every day that you have a drink with Mark Twain.

He saw Twain walking wobbly back and giggled, “Hey Mark, you look like you’re on a boat in rough seas.” He finally got back as Paddy said, “Gents, I gotta close up before Margie comes up looking for me.” He looked at them and added, “Last call!”

“Just one more fer me,” called Twain as he pushed his glass forward followed by Bill doing the same. They both had the drink they didn’t need and after many goodbyes they left Paddy closing up.

“We can walk home,” said Twain as he started to walk.

“Nope! Not me, I’m going to get us a carriage. We ride in style!” He waved a cab down who stopped in front of them before calling out, “Good night gents,” and pulled away.

Twain and Bill looked at each other and started to laugh uncontrollably.

“He-He thinks we’re drunk, Mister Twain!”

“Ha! What does he know about being drunk? Why I once drank whiskey out of a thimble with a group of goblins . . . now that was a drinkin’ spree my friend!”

Still laughing Bill waved a second cab down and finally had to have Twain hide behind a tree to entice the fifth cab to pick him up only to have Twain jump in next to him. They laughed all the way to Twain’s apartment.

They said goodnight at least three times before Twain got out of the cab and went up the three stone steps to the door as Bill sat in the cab trying to remember where he was staying. The cabby showed great patience as Bill had told him that he would be paid at the last drop off.

“Ahh! I remember!” he said as he heard Twain say as he opened the cab’s door, “Well my friend, we need ta go back ta Paddy’s. Seems I must o’ left my key there.” After another bout of laughing Bill said, “He closed when we left.”

“Well then, best take me ta the park bench ya met me on.”

“Cosmopolitan Hotel!” Bill suddenly shouted out as he remembered where he was staying and the cabby wacked the horse on its rump so he could get rid of the two drunks as fast as he could.

“My friend,” he told the writer, “tonight you stay in my place and tomorrow we’ll go back to Diamonds and find your key. Good?”

“If you say that we go back to your favorite watering hole, then yes, good!” Ten minutes later Bill paid the driver and tipped him nicely. Both men stumbled up the steps and then the stairs as the desk clerk pretended to look elsewhere.

Bill opened the door and found the matches to light the gas lamp. There was no thought of washing up before bed as Twain simply lay down on the couch and Bill across his bed.

Bill woke the next morning to the sound of singing in the bathroom and Twain came out in his pants and undershirt. “Howdy partner, I had ta use some o’ your tooth powder on my finger to brush my teeth. Hope ya don’t mind.”

“No problem. Sleep well?”

“Like a baby. And just like a baby I need me some breakfast. Let’s get some vittles and it’s on me.”

“No need. Breakfast comes with the room.”

“And what a room it is! Lawd, it sure is pretty. How long ya been here?”

“Just since yesterday and I only have it for one week.”

“And then where do you go?”

Bill shrugged, “Not sure yet.”

They sat at a table in the corner of the hotel’s dining room and read the menu. “Coffee for me,” said Twain then I’ll have them eggs and baked yankee beans.”

Bill grinned, “Like in a Connecticut Yankee in King Arthur’s Court?”

“Sorta. So tell me Bill, what is it that ya do for a livin’?”

He shrugged, “Not much at the time, Mark. I’ll be looking at some options soon though.” The waiter came and poured two coffees and they gave their orders.

“I have to find a new place to stay because this place is an arm and a leg.”

The writer sat back and laughed. “Bill, I swear you have some of the funniest sayings: An arm and a leg. I just gotta use that in one of my novels.”

Bill winced inwardly, I really have to watch what I say, he thought as he took a sip of coffee, I’m just too screwed up about my position and forget that I have to stay in character.

The two men ate breakfast and went back to Paddy Diamonds. As they entered the big Irishman waved and went to the cash register and took a key out of the drawer. He ambled down the long bar and asked, “Does this key belong to either of you two gents?”

The writer held out his hand, “Ahhhhh, the errant piece of iron that allowed me to sleep on a couch that was far more comfortable than my bed.” He bowed to Paddy, “I thank you sir.” He turned to Bill and said, “Not to have you think less of me my friend but I cannot have a sip of the good drink at this time as I have a show this evening and must be at my best. However, tomorrow is quite different and I shall be looking forward to buying you a drink for your hospitality. Are you in agreement on this?”

Bill shrugged, “Yes I am. When and where?”

“Tomorrow at seven and right here.”

They shook hands and Bill said, “I’ll be here.”

“Good. And perhaps we’ll talk more about A Connect Yankee In King Arthur’s Court.”

“One of my favorite books. See you here.”

Before returning to his hotel Bill stopped at Malcom’s Men’s Shop and purchased another outfit and more underwear and socks. Back in his room he tried texting Matt again and once again the screen was blank. He did a check of his battery charge and saw that it was at 78 percent so he opened the window and placed the communicator in the direct sunlight for a recharge. Bill sat on the bed. Wow! There are things like the battery charge that I have to take into account now. Really have to be on the ball until they get the time machine fixed . . . that’s if they get it fixed.

Bill had a light lunch in the hotel and walked over to the club. He tried the bell but again there was no answer. Peering through the glass section of the double doors he saw a card wedged in the inside door of the vestibule. It looked to have been yellowed by the sunlight. Cupping his eyes against the glass he read, TILLIS RENTALS. He took out his pad and pencil and jotted it down. As he turned to leave he saw the policeman from the other night standing there twirling his nightstick as he watched him.

“Come on down from there.”

Bill came down the stairs.

Without even missing a twirl the policeman asked, “Tell me, what’s ya business here?”

Bill decided to be business like, “Actually officer, I wish to rent the building and need to find the right person to speak with.”

“Will ya show me some identification? Just fer my inquisitive mind ya understand.”

People walking by suddenly decided to cross the street rather than pass by a possible confrontation. Bill went inside his jacket and slowly brought out his billfold and passed it to the officer who looked it over then handed it back. “All seems ta be in order Mister Scott. Do you know where Tillis Rentals is located?”

“Actually I was just going to ask if you knew where they are located.”

“Just walk uptown to 14 th Street and they are right in the center next to Morgan Brothers Moving. Ya can’t miss it.” He touched his nightstick to his tall hat and added, “Nice ta have ya on my beat Mister Scott.”

“Thank you again and good to know that the neighborhood is in good hands.”

They walked in different directions and soon Bill stood in front of Tillis Rentals. The street-front store was typical of early Manhattan with twin round iron columns topped with iron ivy leaves on either side of the recessed door. The large plate glass window that allowed sunlight to brighten the office had hand painted lettering that said TILLIS RENTALS in a curve not unlike a rising sun. Bill stepped up the two iron steps and depressed the thumb lever of the large brass door handle as he pushed the iron and glass door open. Three desks were centered in the very large office and each had a young man sitting behind it. All three wore white shirts with stiff collars and a droopy black bow tie. All three wore a mustache and looked at Bill with hope in their eyes that he might be the distraction they hoped for in their mundane day. The man closest to Bill stood quickly, removed his glasses and asked, “Good day, sir. Might I be of service to you?”

“I do hope so. I’d like to speak with someone about 520 9th Street.”

Bill could see the dejection on the man’s face as he put his glasses back on and said, “Wait one moment and I’ll get the manager.” He walked to a door at the rear of the office and tapped on it. He opened it and in a few seconds a heavy set man dressed in a three-piece black and gray pinstriped suit came out. He also wore a mustache and his thinning hair was obviously dyed jet black.

“Good day, sir. I’m Terrence Tillis, proprietor of Tillis Rentals.” They shook hands.

“Bill Scott and as I said to the young man I am interested in 520 9th Street.”

“Yes, he told me. He’s going through the files right now and I’ll have the papers shortly. Come sit in my office.” He escorted Bill to the room at the rear of the office. Its walls were cluttered with drawings and a few pictures of homes, buildings, lots and garages. “Please sit,” he said as he pointed to a large wood and leather chair facing his desk. Tillis sat behind his desk with his hands clasped. “Tell me, do you wish to rent an apartment?”

“Not sure. Are you the owner?”

“Ahh, well not exactly.” The young man tapped on the door then entered the office. He handed Tillis a thin folder. The man opened the manila folder and Bill saw the single sheet of paper in it. “It’s a funny situation, the owner won’t rent it even though I told him that it could prove to be a handsome income.” He rubbed his hairless chin, “He wishes only to sell it and I doubt that you wish to purchase it although it would be a steal.”

“At what price?”

The man’s eyes lit up and he chewed on his lip in thought. “Listen, the property has been in my charge for seven years now and I will give you the best price possible to take it off my hands.”

“Give me a price.”

“$50,000.”

“Make it $45,000 and I’ll pay in cash. Good?”

Tillis whispered, “Yes! Yes, cash would be good. When?”

“Hopefully tomorrow.”

“Do you wish to go over and see it?”

“No.”

The man squinted at Bill, “No? No you do not wish to go and see it?”

“Correct. I hope to be back here at eleven o’clock tomorrow morning.” Bill smiled, shook hands and left the man sitting with his mouth open. As he opened the front door to leave he distinctly heard a shout of joy come from the back office.

The stranded time traveler went back to the hotel and washed up before enjoying a meat loaf and roasted potatoes dinner. After dinner he took a carriage to 47th Street and walked up the block that would become the biggest jewelry center in the world. Although it was after business hours and they were all closed he chose one that was located on 47th Street and Sixth Avenue. Bill read the hand printed lettering on the thick glass door that told him they would open at nine in the morning. He went back to his hotel and had a nightcap in the lobby bar.

The next morning Bill entered Gassman’s Jewelers. A young man asked, “Sir? May I help you?”

“Yes. I’d like to have something appraised.”

“Sure. Let me see it,” he said as he turned to pick up a loupe. Bill opened a small leather pouch and placed one diamond on the ten-inch square black velvet mat on the counter.

The young man turned and saw the diamond gleaming as the sunlight reflected off of it. His eyes opened wide and he said as he looked at it through the loupe, “Sir, can you tell me where you got this?”

“Why?”

“Because I’ve never seen such a perfect cut! The diamond itself is the purest I’ve ever seen.” He put the loupe down and said, “May I bring this back to show my boss?”

“Uhhh, why not just bring your boss over here?”

“Oh, yes, yes of course. I’ll be right back. “Jayson,” he called out to another young man, “watch my section I’m going to see the boss.”

Bill waited five minutes before the young man returned with an elderly man who walked with a limp. He smiled and said to Bill, “Hello, I’m Mort.” He quickly took a loupe out of his pocket and looked at the diamond. Unlike the young man he showed no expression when he asked, “So, how much do you want for this?”

“I’d like it appraised.”

“Have you ever had it appraised before?”

“No, and I’d also like to sell it. However, do I get it appraised here and sell it elsewhere?”

Now the man’s face showed emotion, “No, no. If you truly wish to sell it, I pray that you allow me first shot.”

“Well let’s have the appraisement first.”

The man looked at the diamond again and said without looking up, “Where did you say you got this?”

“From my uncle.”

“Is he a jeweler?”

“This is becoming silly. It makes no difference where I got it.”

Now he looked up. “Sir, I only wish to know where you or your uncle got it so that I might purchase some from them myself. This is the best cut and purest diamond I have ever seen and I’ve been around a bit.” He almost whispered, “Do you have more to sell?”

“That depends on our transaction.”

The man weighed it and looked at it through a more powerful loupe and said, “I can give you $50,000 for it.”

Bill bit his lip as he pondered the deal. He knew that most of the money would be spent buying the building. He also knew that he had much more in his suspenders. That kind of money goes real far back in these times, he thought. “Deal! But I want cash.”

The man smiled and said, “It will take me a few hours to get cash.”

“I’ll go get some lunch.” He picked up the diamond and put it in the small leather pouch, which he then put in his pocket.

“Please be back here at two this afternoon.”

The time traveler walked over to 48th Street and entered the Pig and Whistle bar and grill. He took a small table in the corner and ordered some Irish sausage and potatoes along with a tall cool mug of beer. He pondered his situation for the tenth time.

Okay, Bill. Let’s say you buy the building that will become the 1800 Club, what happens then? If the time machine is never fixed, that’s assuming it is broken, then I’m stuck here in 1887. As much as I love this time period, do I want to stay in it forever? He shrugged. Maybe not but maybe I’m stuck here and will have to accept it. If that’s the case at least I will own the building that I love. Plus, if they fix the time travel glitch, they’ll just come back and find me. Will I get to meet Prescott Stevens the club’s first president and will he know me or must I try and explain my situation to him? He shook his head, Man, this time travel stuff makes a guy’s head spin. Then there’s Shirley Holmes. What happens to her? Do I take a trip to London and tell her about the trouble? Will she hand me back my engagement ring when she realizes that there will be no traveling in time with me? Wait, I didn’t give her the ring yet! Wow! A thousand questions with no answers.

By the time he drained his second glass of beer he knew that he must buy the building and start over as an ordinary person living in 1887. He smiled to himself, Hey, it could have been worse. I might have been on a mission back to 1800. That’s really primitive compared to the Victorian Era and the Industrial Revolution. He remembered the other two diamonds hidden in his suspenders and the way the jewelers spoke about the one he was selling. Bill Scott, if nothing else you are a wealthy man so hang tight this might be the ride of your life. He finished his beer and paid the bill and walked back to the jewelers.

There were three other men with Mort and the young man. They watched from a respectable distance and Mort showed them the gem. All three took turns and stepped forward and used their own loupe and soon all smiled at Bill and nodded to Mort.

“Mister Scott, I’ll even throw in the leather suitcase to carry your money in.”

Bill opened the suitcase and saw the well-used money was in stacks and after a fast check closed the case.

“Mister Scott,” said Mort as he shrugged his shoulders, “Don’t you wish to count it?”

“Mort, I’m as sure that it’s all here as I am that you’ll be here tomorrow. So if it’s a dollar or two short I’ll see you in the morning.”

Mort grinned and they shook hands. “Please remember that should you wish to sell more diamonds you come here first.”

“I promise.”

Bill left the store and took a carriage back to his hotel where he spread out the money on his bed and counted off forty-five thousand dollars which he then put in the suitcase and hid the rest under the mattress. He lifted the suitcase and said to himself, “Well Mister Scott let’s go buy a building.”

Later Bill walked out of Tillis Rentals with the paperwork in his pocket and the key to the building’s front door. He walked up the stone steps of 520 9th Street and this time the door opened on the first try. He locked it behind him and opened the inside door. Whew! he thought, this place is dusty!

He lit the first gaslight on the main floor and saw that the place had no furniture. Before going up the huge curving staircase he went into Matt’s room, which was also empty. Bill shook his head, This is tough. For some reason I thought that of all the people, Matt would be here. Oh well. The huge kitchen had the gas stoves covered with sheets and the many bumps on the long preparation table turned out to be all of the pots and pans that one would need to cook up a dinner for fifty plus people. He was happy to see that the bathroom had hot and cold taps plus a toilet and bathtub.

He took the wooden stairs down to the basement and saw that the building had a coal-burning furnace and there was a pile of coal in the corner. Tomorrow I’ll have to call a plumber and have him show me how to light it up. The basement was as wide as the townhouse and in one section he found furniture once again draped in dust covered sheets. No club member changing rooms yet, he thought.

Back on the first floor he went up the stairs to the second floor where he found the many guest rooms also bare. He entered the main dining room where he had entertained club members so many times. Now the three chandeliers were covered with a sheet and the fireplace had a large sheet of canvas over the opening. Bill entered the large great room where he had mingled with the club members so many times before. Once again the chandeliers were covered with dusty sheets and the fireplace was covered as well. He opened one of the French doors and stepped out onto the balcony that faced west and smiled as he saw boats, many powered by sail going up and down the Hudson River. The hundreds of seagulls that followed the ships were just like the hundreds that followed the ships in his time. “Some things just never change.”

He went back inside and locked the doors behind him. Boy, he thought, how many times have I had a cigar out here with John Brand and Rocky Perna.

Bill then went up to the third floor and lit one of the gaslights. He walked down the hallway and just for kicks opened the doors to the four guest rooms only to see them bare of furniture. “Here goes,” he said as he opened the door to the small living room with the alcove that he usually ate in. Of course it was bare as well. Bill next entered his den, lit a gaslight and shook his head at the unfurnished room. He went to his bedroom, then his bathroom. Nothing’s changed, he thought, just no furniture.

He went out into the hall and up the stairs to the fourth floor where there were another five guest rooms each with its own bathroom. He opened the door to the gym and of course it was bare.

Up on the fifth floor he checked the room where the printing press for the club’s newspaper would be and then the small swimming pool, which also was empty.

Up on the sixth floor Bill noted that it was bare of everything, rooms included. “This will be Matt’s favorite floor with all of the clothing needed for trips back in time plus the money, diamonds and identification papers section that allow a member to travel back in time.”

Bill went down to the basement and carried up a chair to the alcove where he sat looking out the window to watch the sunset. He had never felt so alone in his life.

“Well I’ll never do that again,” he told himself the next morning over breakfast in the hotel. “Sit and sulk until eleven at night? Nope! I’m staying positive.”

He finished eating and took a carriage to Pearl Street to Wonder Wood Furnishings. Try as they might, Bill would not allow the eager salesman to accompany him on his walk around the huge warehouse. He used a small pad and pencil to jot down the pieces he wanted and on the way out gave him his list, the address and paid half up front. The salesman promised him that the furniture would be delivered in two days as Bill had asked. He then went to Joseph’s Cleaning Service and hired a cleaning crew for the next day. Satisfied, he walked back to his hotel.

“Sir,” said the clerk, “There’s a gentleman sitting in the lobby waiting for you.”

Bill looked in and saw Mark Twain sitting in one of the soft leather easy chairs reading a newspaper with his feet propped up on a potted plant.

“Mark!” How are you my friend?”

“Just fine,” he answered as he stood and they shook hands. “And looking for someone to have dinner with. You free?”

“Yes I am! Come on up and I’ll be ready in five minutes.” He turned and added, “Dinner is on me this evening.”

“I never argue with a man that’s got his mind set.”

One hour later the two men were seated in Delmonico’s restaurant and enjoying a Delmonico steak.

“Dang! That was a fine piece of meat. Tell me, do ya come here often?”

Bill shook his head, “Naw. Just when I want to impress someone.”

Twain laughed and passed him a small black cigar. “Well partner, ya sure impressed me. This has to be one of the finest restaurants in the city.”

“One of the oldest anyway. 1837 I believe.”

Bill sat back and lit his cigar. “Mark, some things have taken place in my life recently that have made me take a long look at my life style.”

“Well I sure hope you find the right star to ride, my friend.”

Bill smiled, “You certainly have a unique way of putting something that another person would have to say in a long sentence.”

“I take that as a compliment.”

“Please do . . . you cut to the chase.”

Twain squinted his eyes again, “And you my friend have a unique group of sayings that I’ve heard nowhere else. ‘Cut to the chase.’ Believe me, that will appear in my next book.” He flicked an ash into the glass ashtray. “Hey, do you know a man named Tom Madden? He uses the moniker ‘Whitey.’”

Bill’s face fell. “What? Why do you ask that?”

Twain sat forward and studied Bill’s eyes as he answered in a low voice, “So you do know him.”

“I didn’t say that.”

“If ya didn’t know him you would have simply said, ‘no’ and that would be the end of that conversation.” He sat back and took a pull on his cigar, “Now I have ta ask ya a simple question.”

“Go ahead.”

Twain suddenly sat forward and hissed through clenched teeth, “Why are you following me?”

Bill recoiled, “I-I’m not following you. What would make you say that?”

“Because back in 1883 I became good friends with Mister Whitey Madden and he used phrases that evidently were common where he came from and you are doing the same.”

Bill shrugged and answered, “Maybe we both came from the same region.”

“You mentioned my book, A Connecticut Yankee In King Arthur’s Court. Well that’s funny as it was Whitey who suggested that I use that name in my time travel yarn.”

“And you did, right?”

Twain smiled, “Ya mean I will. Ya see I haven’t written it yet and there just ain’t no way that you could have known about it as I never told anyone about it. So now I ask ya once again; how come you guys keep following me?”

Bill sat and pondered his situation for a moment then said, “Mark, it’s not what you think it is. True, I do know Whitey Madden and he told me all about you and him meeting in New Orleans and pretty much saving the city. You’re correct that we can travel in time but that was until just recently. You see I came back to save Stevenson from getting hit in his head by that rock the boy threw. After we all ate and drank I tried to go back to my time but for some reason the time portal is not working. I can understand how you think that we are following you, but it was simply being in the wrong place at the time when Stevenson had to be saved.”

Twain sat back. “My lawd! Why I couldn’t write a plot line such as this.” He scratched his head, “So how do ya go home?”

“I’m starting to think that this is my new home.”

Twain grinned, “It ain’t so bad, partner. Especially if ya know what’s coming down the track ahead of time.”

“That’s a whole lot of remembering my friend. I’ll have to jot down all of the pertinent happenings coming up if I can remember them.”

“Just so ya don’t tell me when I go to meet my maker.”

Bill shrugged, “Believe me Mark I don’t know that date.”

“So where is this time port?”

“Time portal and it’s in the building I just purchased or rather it used to be there.”

“Ya purchased a building? Mighty fast work, my friend.”

“It suddenly hit me like a ton of bricks; I might be here to stay and needed to get myself set up.”

“So ya bought a whole building in New York City? Might not that be over-kill?”

“Could be, but it’s home to me. You see besides going back to fix things I also lived in the building. In fact I was the president of the time travel club.”

“Sure would like ta take a look at that place.”

“Come on, then. Let’s go over there right away.”

“After you, partner.”

Bill paid the bill and they stepped out of the restaurant and into a night that was warm with a sky dotted with millions of stars. Bill suddenly felt alive as he was not only back in the time he loved, but was with a friend who he could trust. They caught a cab with an open roof and after Bill told the tall, slim, silver haired driver the address he decided to tell Twain all he could about his time in the future.

“Mark,” he said, “look up at the sky from inside of the cab and imagine a yellow steel and glass carriage being propelled without horses down the same street. The steel roof is open and, as we are now, we can look up at the stars.”

“Tarnation! It must be an exciting time.”

“Was,” he corrected as they both grabbed the side leather grips as the cab’s wheels slipped on the cobblestones.

Ten minutes later he paid the driver and took Twain to the front door, opened it and they entered the first floor.

“Just need some furniture,” Twain quipped as Bill lit two gaslights.

“Coming the day after tomorrow. Tomorrow the cleaning crew comes in.” He showed his friend the entire place and explained what each room was for. Finally he took him to his apartment and showed him around. Twain was impressed by it all but loved the alcove the best.

“It’s a room with many reasons. To eat in, to study the traffic on the river and look over into New Jersey or down to lower Manhattan and Brooklyn beyond. Why if I were to live here this would be my writing spot. I could conjure up all sorts of scenes including cowboys and Indians, sea stories, and traveling.” He turned to Bill, “Partner, you got to understand: to you, you are stranded back in time, while to me you are a new friend from my time.”

“Thank you, Mark. That means a lot to me.”

“Now I bet ya don’t even have a small bottle of bourbon, do ya?”

“No, but we can stop in Diamonds to fix that problem.”

They walked over to Paddy Diamonds and sat on the two end stools enjoying bourbon and each other.

When it was clear that they could not be overheard Twain asked, “So tell me, partner, how is it that ya travel in time?”

He laughed when Bill shrugged his shoulders and answered, “I really don’t know.” He showed Twain the small Time Frequency Modulator and said, “I use this to enter the date that I wish to go to and press the activate button and I’m there. Of course I have to be near the door of my building as that’s where the time portal is . . . or was.”

“I remember being so intrigued when Whitey showed me his hairbrush that changed into a typewriter of sorts. Boy, I wanted one of them ta write one of my books on. Make a mistake an’ just backspace an’ it’s gone.”

Bill nodded. “I have something like that but smaller at the hotel. If you want I’ll show it to you tomorrow.”

Twain downed his drink. “I go back to N’Orleans tomorrow. Got a speaking engagement in three days.”

“When will you be back in New York?”

“Not sure. Hope you’ll be here.”

“Well when you do return just ring the bell and ask for me. I don’t know who will answer the door but there’s a good chance that it’ll be me. If there is no answer walk around to the garden and see if I’m in it.”

The two friends sat and chatted with Twain telling Bill stories of people he had met and stories he planned on writing while Bill told him of some of his missions back in time.

“Last call” was called out at 2:00 A.M. by Paddy as the big Irishman started to empty the bar so he could go home.

“Bill, can I ask ya for a wish?”

“Whatever you want, my friend. What is it?”

“If that confounded time port thing-a-mee starts working again will ya give me a peek at the future?”

Bill grinned and shook his hand. “Mark, I promise that when it starts working again we take a trip to my time. That’s a promise my friend.”

Once again the two men walked in different directions.

Back in his hotel Bill opened the small hand held communicator and entered SAMSON followed by MATT. ARE YOU THERE? BILL. He pressed the send button and put it on the night table where it sat quietly all night.

After breakfast the next morning Bill went to the building and opened the door for the cleaning company. A few hours later Bill was so impressed by their work ethics that at lunchtime he went out and brought them all sandwiches and soda pop. They finished at four-thirty in the afternoon and Bill tipped them two dollars apiece.

After good byes he walked the entire building and it was spotless.

“Tomorrow the furniture comes,” he said to himself as he walked back to the hotel. Once again he sent a message to Matt and went to bed and once again the communicator stayed silent all night.

After breakfast the next morning he stopped in a grocery store and picked up a bottle of milk and an apple pie before going to his building. Once there he put the milk and pie on the window sill to help keep them fresh and then opened the front double doors for the men with the three horse drawn wagons loaded with furniture. He was happily surprised at how well the entrance way looked without dust. He removed the glass tassels on the overhead oil lamp, lit it and replaced the tassels. He personally had the eight burly men place the furniture as close to where he remembered the pieces were in his time. Once again he went and got them lunch.

The coal company representative came to his place at one o’clock in the afternoon and once in the basement he went through the starting up of the big furnace. He pointed to the small mound of coal in the corner and said, “There is a small opening on the sidewalk in front of the building. The coal delivery man will open it and pour coal into it by way of a long steel chute from the truck to the hole.” He then pointed to a round hole in the wall of the basement and continued. “The coal goes down the sidewalk opening and comes out here. Some people just let it accumulate while others build a bin so that it stays in one place. At least once a day you need to empty the ashes that build up from the burnt coal by opening this door.” He pointed and opened the heavy iron door. “Shovel the ash into a steel ashcan and put it by the curb for the trash men to pick up. Then add some more coal to the fire and you’re good for another day. When I get back to the office I’ll set up an account and a delivery man will drop off coal once a week without you even having to be here.“

Bill tipped the furniture men a large five dollars each and the happy workers left at six in the evening. He went to the hotel, had a salmon dinner and then checked out. On his way home he stopped once again in the grocery store and purchased more groceries.

Tonight I sleep in my own bed, he thought with a smile. Back in his place he lit the gaslight in the vestibule, one on each of the floors ending in his apartment where he lit them all. As much as he wished to light the fireplace it was still too warm for that. He pushed back the long ceiling-to-floor red velvet drapes in his den and looked out on Manhattan. While it was lit up it was nothing like the neon jungle that it would become. He saw the soft lights of the oil lamps attached to the wagons and admitted that they were nicer than the glare of automobile headlights. He opened the windows to allow the cool air to enter the room that had been closed for who knows how long and heard the clopping of horse footfalls and once again preferred them to the roar of bus, truck, motorcycle and automobile engines. The moon was almost full and he could make out the silhouettes of ships tied up at docks while others announced their coming or leaving with oil lamps tied to their masts, bow and rear. He could easily hear ship’s bells as they sounded the time of day.

He opened the five-foot tall wooden icebox and was happily surprised to find that the furniture men had placed a small block of ice in it. He stocked it with the groceries he purchased then opened the top door and double-checked to see if he could estimate how long the ice would last. He decided that the tin lined ice section kept the ice cold for a nice amount of time. “Not bad. Probably won’t need ice for another day or two.” He had spotted a thin, tin tube inside the ice section at the top of the box, which ran down the back and ended just above a tin pan at the very bottom of the icebox. A drip line, he thought. As the ice melts the water drains from the top by way of the drip line and ends up in the drip pan at the bottom of the icebox. He knelt down and pulled out the tin drip pan to check the water level. There was hardly any water in it and he thought, I have to remember to check the drip pan at least once a day before the melting ice water overflows all over the floor.

He opened the window and brought in the bottle of milk and apple pie. Bill remembered that the milk bottle of this time period had all of its cream at the top and had to be shaken to mix it. He did it as though he was mixing a cocktail and after a minute the cream was totally mixed in with the milk. He poured himself a drink and took a small slice of the pie and soon felt refreshed. He put the milk and pie in the cool icebox. Bill sat at the small round table that had its wings in the up position as he finished his milk. It’s not hot chocolate in my Donald Duck mug but it’ll have to do.

He looked out the windows facing Brooklyn and wondered how his beagle Samson was doing. I’m sure Matt is taking good care of him but I miss the little fellow. Bill got up and opened one of the eight brown paper bags that he had not put away yet. He fished out a calendar with a picture of Central Park on the front and opened it to September and with a thumbtack hung it on the wall. I wonder how many pages I’m going to have to turn before the time portal is fixed? That is, he corrected himself, if it’s ever fixed. He checked his pocket watch and said, “Hey! I forgot to buy a grandfather clock. Well that’s on my to-do list.”

He walked into the den. Warm out or not I must light that fireplace, he thought as he took a wooden match from the iron matchbox next to the mantle. Within five minutes he had a roaring fire going. After ten minutes he opened the rest of the windows. He glanced at the door in the rear of the room and thought, Man, wouldn’t it be nice to see Matt walk in right now. Bill took the key around his neck and tried to open it with no success. “Tomorrow I need to change that lock with one of my own.”

He was restless and unable to stay in one room too long. He went into the bathroom and thought, Thank heavens that the bathtub delivery guy hooked up the water to the tub and sink. At least I’ll be able to take a bath. He ran the hot water in the sink and after three minutes it warmed up. He opened a stack of white towels that he hadn’t stored away yet, took one and then filled up the tub and sank slowly into the hot water. “Well thankfully the furnace does supply hot water. I wonder what year the club converted to oil heat?” He took his time and every ten minutes added more hot water. “What I need is some reading material. That’s another thing on my check list; go buy some books.”

His wrinkled skin told him that his bath time was over. He dried himself and slipped into the white terrycloth robe he purchased and regretted not taking a pair of slippers. He went into the den and extinguished the oil lamp, went back to the bathroom and lowered that one to its minimum. He was full, bathed and tired so he went to his bedroom.

Not bad, not bad, he thought as he looked around. I really need to have someone come in and remove that wallpaper. Maybe I’ll just have the room painted light blue like in my time. He smiled and sighed as he could see in his mind’s eye himself and Shirley wrapped in a bear skin rug lying on the floor between the foot of the bed and the fireplace. I have to see her. I really do, He stepped close to the pictures on the wall and shrugged as he thought, Don’t know why the furniture guy threw those pictures in for free. He must think that a bare wall is obscene or something. Oh well, they get the boot too.

He slipped under the light blanket and once again missed the library from his time. Just another thing to do tomorrow.

Bill was woken by the bright sunlight that streamed in through the long windows and for a moment he thought he smelled Matt’s coffee. Not today, my friend, he thought as he got out of bed. Not today and maybe not ever. He washed and said, “Number one task today: hook up a shower to the bathtub.”

He made a list, got dressed and left the building. As he closed the door behind him he heard someone say, “Good day, sir. Have ya settled in?”

He turned and saw the policeman walking his beat. “Good morning to you, sir. Yes I have. I’m just on my way to get some breakfast and do some shopping.”

“Mind the traffic then. They drive them horses like cowboys in those dime novels.”

”Thanks and have a nice day.” He walked over to Broadway and suddenly felt very alive. Bill, you are back in the time you love so make every minute count.

He entered Pearl’s Diner and a slim pretty dark haired girl of eighteen took his order. She returned with a soft-boiled egg, buttered toast and coffee. She smiled and stared a moment too long and Bill asked, “Is everything all right?”

Suddenly flustered she said, “Oh, oh no. Please forgive me for staring, sir. It’s just that I could count on one hand the number of men I’ve seen without a mustache.”

She’s right, thought Bill as he glanced around the diner. He was the only man out of the ten or twelve men in the place without a mustache. “Do you think that I should grow one?”

“Oh no, sir. Why would one wish to look like every other man . . . I say be unique!”

“Then unique I shall stay. And I truly thank you for I started to think that I should grow one to fit in.”

“Fit in and disappear, I fear. Better to stay unique than mundane I say.”

“Thank you for your advice.” He paid the bill and left her a dollar tip, which brought a big smile to her face.

Bill hired a plumber to attach an overhead shower and curtain to his tub and then went downtown to Fourth Avenue between Union Square and Astor Place, which was known as ‘Book Row’. Store after store and small and large wagons and carts carried books both new and used.

He walked away with a paper bag containing four books: The Scarlet Letter, Wuthering Heights, Little Women and Hamlet. He grinned happily, “This is the beginning of the huge library in the club.” At a newsstand he purchased a magazine that the owner was calling out as he waved it about, “New magazine! New magazine! Scribner’s Magazine, brand new. Get it here!”

Bill picked it up and added it to his bag.

He stopped in Goodman Brothers Clocks and purchased an 18th Century Georgian Mahogany Tall Case Clock, which would be delivered the next day.

Lunchtime found him in a small pub, The Crow’s Foot, eating sausage and rice and washing it down with a cool beer. When he stepped out of the bar he felt a chill in the air and knew it was time to buy something warmer than summer clothes. First he bought a pair of slippers then a suit, shirt, tie and a pair of black shoes, then a long black overcoat known as a Chesterfield shape with a short shoulder cape that can be detached. He also bought three black thick turtle neck sweaters and a pair of leather dress gloves. Spotting a line of black umbrellas he took one of them as well. Bill got to his place just as the plumber with his two helpers were leaving. He tipped them and went up to his bedroom to hang his clothes and put the new books in his small bookcase. He then sat in the alcove with a glass of wine and browsed through the new magazine.

The publication contained many engravings by famous artists of the 19th century, as well as many famous authors of that time. It was also the first magazine to contain color illustrations. He read the first article, The Siege And Commune Of Paris by E.B. Washburne, Ex-Minister to France. He found it interesting, but not his taste. He put the magazine down and smiled as he realized that he was enjoying himself. Sure he missed his friends and he was positive that they were doing all they could to rescue him, but from what? This is what any member of the 1800 Club would do anything for: Live back in the 1800s! He certainly was grateful that he had brought along the three diamonds that was mandatory in case of something just as this happening. If he had to spend the rest of his life in this time he would do it as a rich man.

Once again he opened his communicator and entered his password, SAMSON followed by MATT. ARE YOU THERE? BILL. He placed it on the windowsill where the sunlight recharged it.

“Tonight we dine!” he said as he set out this evening’s outfit. It was a charcoal gray three-piece suit with four buttons that pulled the jacket tight to his middle not unlike the corset that women were forced to wear. The jacket’s breast pocket had a white silk handkerchief in it. The white shirt had a soft collar and a black ascot folded like a large floppy bow tie. He grinned as he remembered trying on the new style of men’s shoes as they had a high heel and extremely pointed toes. The pant’s cuffs draped slightly over the shoes, a style that only showed his thin gray socks when he sat down. Bill looked at the black bowler hat a few times before placing it on his head and accepting it. “Oh well, when in Rome do as the Romans do.”

He went into the bathroom and saw the flowers the cleaning people had placed there. “Wow! They add a touch of class to the room. Maybe I should hire a cleaning woman?

He took a shower and when the warm water started to run cool he quickly stepped out and got dry. He touched the hot water pipe coming up from the basement and it was cool. “Darn! I bet the darn fire in the furnace is out. I really need to remember to empty the ashes and feed it some coal.” He looked in the mirror mounted above the pedestal sink and said to his reflection, “Hey buddy! Wake up! Things are much different back in this time and you have no Matt to count on.” Still looking he thought, Boy do I have a new respect for Matt. He does so much at the club that is never recognized. He grabbed his bathrobe and slipped into his new slippers and trotted down to the basement.

He lit an oil lamp and then opened the square iron furnace door . . . the interior was loaded with gray ash and the fire was almost out. He grabbed the small black shovel and a large tin can and started to remove the ash by the shovelful. Finally the small fire was alone in the furnace’s belly and Bill used the same shovel to add some coal to it. He nursed it back to a roar, closed the door and went upstairs. Tomorrow morning I have to put the ash can out for the trash collectors. He stopped, rubbed his chin and thought some more, Tomorrow? Heck I don’t even know if they pick up tomorrow or for that matter, when they pick up at all. Billy boy you have a lot of things to learn that we never went over in the club. His robe and hands were black and gray from the coal and ash. That’s another thing: where do I get my laundry done? He drained the water from the tub, refilled it with hot water and finally relaxed in it.

One hour later Bill was dressed in his new outfit. He was going to try the communicator then said as he tossed it on the bed, “Forget it pal. Go and have a good night out in old New York City.”

He exited the building by the front door and was happily surprised to see couples strolling the avenue arm in arm as children played hopscotch on the sidewalk. The streets were dotted with small pools of yellow circles on each corner and continued down each block as the light from the gas lamps gave them a place to play. Horse drawn carriages rolled by no faster than a walk as the owners took their families for a ride in the end of summer warmth. Although they disappeared into the darkness they left a tell-tale small circle of light on the cobblestone street from the swinging oil lamp they carried attached to their rear axles. He felt another warmth as total strangers tipped their hats to him and he of course returned the silent greeting. I miss Shirley, he thought as he passed so many pretty girls with their arms in the crook of their partner’s arm.

He got a kick out of hearing a mother call out to her children from a third floor window, “You three kids get to sleep and if I catch any of you standing you come right back in for the night.” Bill had heard that warning many times when he was on a mission but now it seemed to hit home. He looked up and could make out the bottom of a stripped mattress on a fire escape and knew that she was telling her three kids that if they stood up they might fall down the three stories so if she caught them standing they would have to spend the hot night in the apartment rather than on the much cooler fire escape.

Bill turned the corner of 14th Street and Ninth Avenue and saw his destination: The Homestead Steakhouse, one of the oldest restaurants in the city in his time. The door was opened by a tall middle-aged man in a red overcoat with brass buttons and red pants with a four-inch black stripe that ran up the pant’s leg. On his head was a red captain’s cap with gold trim around the edge.

Bill stepped into the place and smiled as it looks exactly as it looked in his time. The entire place was made of highly polished mahogany and cherry wood. The long bar had a small group of business men and the downstairs dining room was illuminated by yellow tinted glass-enclosed oil lamps. Most of the tables were taken and the maitre d’ seated Bill near the corner. Each table had a single candle on it that reflected off of the silver cutlery, dishes, glassware and white linen tablecloth.

Bill sat and a young waiter gave him a menu as he asked, “Something to drink, sir?”

Bill nodded, “Yes. A glass of beer, please.” He walked off as Bill opened the menu. He remembered many of the selections from his time as they stuck with the proven.

STEAKS AND CHOPS

TRIO OF SAUCES BERNAISE—AU POIVRE—HORSERADISH

OUR FINEST CENTER CUT SIRLOIN SEASONED WITH A SPECIAL BLEND OF HERBS AND SPICES

NEW YORK SIRLOIN 18OZ

NEW YORK SIRLOIN 14OZ

SIRLOIN STEAK AU POIVRE 14OZ

THE GOTHAM RIB STEAK ON THE BONE 24OZ

PRIME FILET MIGNON ON THE BONE 19OZ

PRIME FILET MIGNON ON THE BONE AU POIVRE 14OZ

FILET MIGNON WRAPPED IN APPLEWOOD SMOKED BACON 10OZ SEASONED POTATO, BORDELAISE

FILET MIGNON 10OZ

SEASONED POTATO, BORDELAISE47

FILET MIGNON FOR TWO YUKON POTATOES, CHEDDAR SPINACH, SOUR CREAM, ASIAN VEGETABLES

PRIME RIB

PRIME 40-DAY DRY AGED RIB STEAK ON THE BONE FOR TWO

PRIME PORTERHOUSE STEAK FOR TWO

The waiter returned with a tall glass of cold beer and Bill ordered the 18 oz. New York Sirloin, rare with a baked potato. The waiter walked away when the room was suddenly filled with laughter from someone at the door. The restaurant owner, a slim elderly man with a pencil-line thin black mustache almost flew to the entranceway.

A very large man dressed in a tux with a cape and tall silk hat entered the room with the slim man leading. He sat him at a table near the rear and immediately one of the waiters took his hat, cape and walking stick while two others stood with paper and pencil at the ready. It was almost at the same time that Bill and the man recognized each other.

“Bill!” he called out as Bill walked over to his table with outstretched hand to greet his old friend Diamond Jim Brady.

“Jim! How are you?” They shook hands and Bill continued, “I haven’t seen you in at least a year. Is all well?”

The big man slapped the top of the round table and answered, “All is well, now what about you, Billy?”

“All is well.”

“I insist that you eat with me.” He waved to one of the three waiters that stood near him, “Will you please bring his dinner to my table so we may dine together.”

“Yes sir, and will you be ordering now?”

The big man grinned. “You must be new here. Just tell the chef that Diamond Jim will have the usual. He’ll know.”

Bill and Jim spent the next ten minutes catching up and when the waiter brought out Bill’s meal Jim laughed.

“Billy Boy, ya still don’t know how ta dine. Best that you start to eat now as mine won’t be out a few minutes yet.”

Five minutes later the three waiters started to bring out the dishes of food for the big man. One tray carried three dozen oysters, five soft shell crabs and all of the sauces he preferred. As they ate Bill couldn’t help but grin as another tray carried to the table held two bowls of green turtle soup. This was followed by six lobsters, two canvasback ducks and a double portion of terrapin.

The conversation covered everything from jewelry to Broadway shows, which the big man invested in, the coming horseless carriage, which he couldn’t fit in, politics and women. He kept eating as they chatted and Bill finished his and watched as a sirloin steak appeared with three types of vegetables and finally a dessert that contained a platter of French pasties followed by two pounds of chocolate candies. During the entire meal Jim finished two gallons of orange juice with crushed ice. He finally sat back and with a pat on his stomach said, “Maybe I should not of had that cornbread after all.”

“But, I saw no cornbread, Jim.”

“Mmm, what? Oh, no I meant with breakfast this morning. He took out a small notebook and read, “Breakfast today consisted of: A large order of hominy, four eggs, cornbread, muffins, flapjacks, two chops, fried potatoes, a ten ounce beefsteak and a gallon of orange juice. So you see I did have the cornbread.”

“And you feel that it somehow has made you feel uncomfortable?”

The big man shrugged as he flipped the page and said, “Maybe, maybe not. You see I had a mid-morning snack of three dozen clams at Paddy Diamonds, and then had lunch at the Stevens. There I had six shell fish, three deviled crabs, a stack of boiled lobsters, a slab of beef, with a big salad and for dessert three slices of pie and of course my orange juice to wash it down.” He once again flipped a page and said sheepishly, “Of course at tea time I went to McAvoys and had a platter of seafood and three bottles of lemon water, so perhaps it was not the cornbread that makes me feel queasy.”

After dinner the two men sat on the bench seat out in front of the restaurant and smoked a cigar before walking home in different directions. Bill had to shake his head in awe as he remembered reading a book in which George Rector, owner of the New York restaurant, Rectors wrote, ‘Diamond Jim Brady was the best 25 customers I ever had.’

Once home he checked on the furnace and was happy to see it still lit. He emptied the ashes and added more coal before going to bed.

Bill woke early, took a shower and sat in the alcove sipping coffee and eating hard-boiled eggs. He looked at his pocket watch when the front door bell rang. “They’re here,” he said to himself as he trotted down the stairs. He opened the door and greeted the team of sixteen men.

“Mister Scott?” asked the lead man as he looked at a work order in his hand.

“Yep! Come on in, guys. Let me show you around.

One hour later he left the building to the sound of jackhammers, steam engines and sawing. He smiled as he passed the two wagons parked in front of the building. Each had large white letters on its side that read, EDISON ELECTRIC COMPANY.

He went over to the diner and read the newspaper as he had his second cup of coffee. He turned the page as he thought, “Well Bill, you will be the first building on the block to have electric lights.”

The rest of the day he spent buying light fixtures. He picked up a bottle of milk, a loaf of bread some hand sliced bologna and two tomatoes and went home. It was five o’clock and the men were putting away their tools. The headman and Bill walked through the building as he showed him where the light switches were. All of the fixtures had a light bulb in them and the glare was intense. Bill paid the man and gave him a tip to be shared with the workers.

Alone he walked once again through the building this time putting the lights out except for the one in the entranceway and on his floor. He decided that it was dinnertime and was surprised to find that the soft white bread he purchased had to be hand cut. He made a sandwich of bologna and tomato with a light spread of olive oil and enjoyed a glass of milk with it. Once again he said to himself, “Matt, I really miss you.”

After dinner he went to wash up and loved the way the two lights reflected off of everything in the bathroom. He thought as he looked around, I’d probably end up putting one or two oil lamps in here rather then always using the lights. After his bath Bill lay in bed reading and enjoying a cup of tea. Boy. I never really read this much before. It truly is a gentler time I live in.

The next morning Bill emptied the ashes, fed the fire and emptied the icebox’s drip pan. He made a not-so-great pot of coffee in his early coffee percolator.

He turned on one of the gas stove top burners and placed the flat toaster over the flame. He quickly sliced two pieces of bread and placed them on top of the toaster. Bill fried two eggs and then discovered that the toast was burnt. He rescued them by using the flat end of the butter knife to scrape off the darkest part. He finally sat and ate his first homemade breakfast.

He sat back and looked around at the bare light bulbs. “Now that we are wired, I’ll add globes and shades to all of the fixtures.”

Suddenly from the open window he heard shouting and he looked out to see a man with a large wagon covered with burlap walking slowly up the street with the horse drawn wagon following. He was shouting, “Ice man! Ice man! Bill quickly ran to his icebox and opened the top door to see his dwindling block of ice needed replacement. Back at the window he called out, “Hey ice man!” The man with very broad shoulders looked up and nodded as he used an ice pick to cut a block of ice off of the much larger block of ice. He grabbed the block with a pair of iron tongs that dug into the block of ice and in one quick motion put it up on his burlap covered shoulder. Bill ran down and opened the door and the man entered. He was dressed in old heavy pants, high topped shoes, a cutoff sleeveless shirt with a piece of leather over his shoulder and a piece of burlap over that. He rested the block of cold ice on that shoulder and chomped on an unlit cigar as he followed Bill up the stairs. The ice man placed the block of ice in the icebox and said, “Twenty-cents, please.”

Bill paid him and asked, “Would you like a cigar?”

“Nope, thanks but I never smoke them. Just something ta chomp down on when I toss the ice up on my shoulder. Thanks all the same.”

Bill grinned as he watched the man go back and chop off another block for another customer.

For the rest of the morning Bill placed glass covers and lampshades over the naked bulbs. He went to the diner and had a salad, as he wanted to save his appetite for dinner.

Back at his apartment he dressed in a pair of casual black slacks, turtleneck sweater, tan jacket and black canvas deck shoes. He took a long walk down to The Canvas Eatery a small restaurant opposite the New York docks. The wooden walls were decorated with canvas oil paintings of sailing ships on the high seas and illuminated by oil lamps that added a rich warm glow to the old wooden floors. The tables were various sized wooden reels that once held coils of rope and were almost covered with wax from candles. He admired the uniqueness of the personnel as they were all dressed as sailors and pirates. One came to his table and held a lit candle over the table allowing the wax to drip on it before placing it in the hot wax which dried and became a candle holder. By the light of the candle Bill ordered tuna steak with sliced potatoes and mushrooms. He sat by the large glass window and watched as wagon after wagon entered the port area to deliver to the ships or pick up cargo from ports all over the world. He suddenly felt sad knowing that this way of life for so many would disappear before too long. The thousands of men toiling at something they loved would have to seek other employment as mechanical devices replace them.

After dinner Bill took the trolley uptown and was home by ten o’clock.

Three weeks flew by and the weather grew colder which helped remind Bill to keep a good supply of coal on hand and the ashes removed daily.

He had dinner once a week with Diamond Jim and on another night ate at The Canvas Eatery. To keep in shape he walked to as many places as possible and did aerobics by jumping rope.

It was usually after dinner when he sat in his leather easy chair in front of his fireplace that he did his thinking. He liked to put out the electric lights and light up the oil lamps as he read and he usually drifted off to sleep in the relaxing setting.

It was raining heavily and Bill placed another log on the fire. It was as he sat back that he thought, It would be great if Shirley were here tonight. He wondered, Why haven’t I contacted her? I haven’t even written her about my predicament. Why? He shook his head and picked up his book only to put it down again. Bill, what the heck is your problem? Why haven’t you got in touch with her? He picked up the book and tried to read again. It’s no good; you have to find the answer to that. Put the book down and think on this. He shook his head. I-I have things to do. I still have more furniture to buy. I have to get the place back in shape. I’ll write her as soon as I’m finished. Once again he put the book down. He got up and poured himself a gin and tonic, sat and downed the drink. Face it Bill, you’re afraid to see her without your ability to time travel. You have nothing to offer her. She’s a genius with a steel-trap mind and photographic memory that will go down in history as the great Sherlock Holmes. What do I have to offer? Nothing! I used to have the ability to travel in time but now that’s gone. I’m just a normal everyday guy with nothing to offer her and she’ll laugh at any wedding plans we might have spoken about. He grabbed a pad and scribbled some notations on it before setting his alarm for seven the next morning and went to bed.

The alarm on his pocket watch went off at seven o’clock in the morning. He jumped out of bed and after a fast shower, ate some toast and eggs and, still dressed in his bathrobe went down to the basement. He opened the furnace’s iron door and cleaned out the ashes. He added no coal to the low flame and shut off the water feed and drained the water system. Back in his apartment he got dressed and packed a suitcase. He then put out all the lights except the one in the vestibule.

He went over his checklist: Okay, Bill. Rather than hire someone to watch the building in case of an overnight freeze you emptied the water from the water pipes and the fire will soon go out without coal. The lights are off except for the entranceway so people will think there are people inside. Your bag is packed and you have cash on you as well as the two diamonds secured in your suspenders. Time for an overseas trip.

He hailed a cab and climbed in as he called out, “The Cunard lines at the 14th Street docks, please.” He looked at his pocket watch and mumbled as he read the travel section of The Brooklyn Eagle newspaper, “R.M.S. Aurania leaves New York City from Pier 14 at 11:00 A.M. on October 5th, 1887.” He folded the newspaper and left it on the seat for the next passenger to read.

The Cunard departure building was huge and sat on its own wide and long pier. Four large clocks that could be read from each of its four sides said that it was nine o’clock as Bill hopped out of the carriage, paid the driver and walked briskly to the entrance. Inside the door was an enclosed office with a window along with two stout men who, although well dressed were probably a form of security. Bill stopped at the window and an elderly man wearing a black visor on his forehead like a dealer at a gambling table said, “Your ticket, please.”

“I wish to purchase one, sir.”

He nodded and handed Bill a sheet of printed material. He filled out the form and after the man read it asked, “Class?”

Bill passed him the required amount of money as he said, “First Class, please.”

The man smiled and said, “Of course, sir.” He slipped him a ticket across the well-polished wooden counter after counting the money. “I do hope you enjoy your trip across, sir.”

“Thank you.” Bill took his valise and entered the cavernous room where hundreds of passengers and their friends and relatives stood around saying their goodbyes. He walked past them and entered the covered gangway into the ship. His ticket stated that he was in cabin 116 and a young boy in a blue and white uniform asked to carry his valise. Bill allowed him and the boy led the way. He opened the cabin door and placed the valise on a flat seat at the foot of the bed. He smiled as Bill tipped him well and closed the door as he left the cabin.

Bill locked the door and took out his communicator for the hundredth time and sent the usual message to Matt. He then placed it to charge in the sunlight provided by the large glass window and started to unpack. He nodded at himself in the mirror over the dressing table and thought, This is a first. I don’t remember ever going back and buying a ticket for a ship or airplane. Got to hand it to Matt, he did an awful lot that nobody knew about.

Bill hung his three suits in the tall mahogany armoire then sat on the bed to look around. The cabin walls were painted a soft yellow with bluebell flowers with a slight drop shadow that made them look as though they were floating above the paper. The woodwork and ceiling molding were gold leafed while the floor was highly shined cherry wood. The bed he sat upon was large and had a soft yellow silk bedcover that showed off the large stuffed pillows in their periwinkle blue silk cases. On either side of the bed was a three-drawer night table, one of which had writing paper, pen and ink and a rocking ink blotter on it. Above both tables was a wall mounted oil lamp on a swivel arm. A round table sat to the left of the bed and had four high-back chairs with periwinkle blue cushions pushed in beneath it. Set in the wall facing the foot of the bed was a small fireplace with an iron grate that held a small bag of coal and also prevented it from spilling out in rough seas. A large scalloped gold-framed mirror hung above the cherry wood mantle. Bill opened the door to the left of the armoire and entered the bathroom.

The walls were covered by six-inch by six-inch periwinkle blue tiles while the floor was one-inch hex-shaped black and white tiles. A white and gold-leaf wooden medicine cabinet with a swing out shaving mirror was mounted above the white and gold-leaf cabinet that held an oversized sink with hot and cold faucets. A deep soaking bathtub with an attached overhead shower curtain and a hand held showerhead on the end of a rubber hose stood in the end of the room. The soft yellow glow from two oil lamps filled the room with color.

Less than an hour later the ship pulled away from the dock and as the hundreds of well-wishers waved to their friends and relations on the ship’s deck with him, he felt alone. Soon I’ll be with my love, he thought as he walked the deck. Right away the other thoughts took over: Are you doing the right thing by going to her? Won’t she see you as just an average guy with nothing to offer? He stopped and pounded the rail, Nothing to offer her? Why I’m a rich man! I have plenty to offer. He looked out at the ocean and continued his argument. You fool! You know Shirley is not that kind of girl. Money doesn’t faze her. He felt better and continued his walk.

As usual a young man in a white uniform walked the deck ringing a dinner bell as he proclaimed, “Lunch will be served in the main dining room on the main deck in one hour.” An hour later Bill followed the crowd into the main dining room and was blown away by the ambiance. He knew that the ships were competing with the grand hotels of Europe and New York but this was fantastic. It turned out that the shipping line invested heavily by electrifying their grandest room, the main dining room and it showed as the creative use of lighting illuminated the great room off better than any oil lamps could have. If there was anything negative about it, it was the steady hum that they gave off. However that was only heard when the six-piece orchestra was quiet between sets and that was a minor nuisance compared to the visual they afforded.

Bill took a round table towards the end of the room and soon had four tablemates. The dress for lunch was business attire and all wore three-piece suits with Bill the only clean-shaven face at the table. Thomas Claven was the eldest with a thick head of pure white hair including a curled up mustache, thick sideburns and a contagious smile.

Edward Dillon was a tall man in his mid-thirties with a mop of red hair that seemed to wrap around his face as his beard and mustache covered most of it. James Muskey was a short pudgy man with thin black hair and a pencil thin mustache that curled up at the ends. His coal black eyes darted around constantly as he spoke. Finally there was Ken Gulf a house painter that found an old steamer trunk full of money in the basement of a building he was painting. He said, as his blue eyes twinkled and he twisted the dark brown and gray mustache between his fat fingers, that he tried to find the owner, but had no success and after two years decided to have some fun with it. He was looking forward to playing cards. The men sipped wine as they got to know each other and quieted down only after the menus were distributed.

Appetizers — Roasted Corn Chowder Entrée — Baked Kohlrabi Tart Dessert — Freshly Sliced Cantaloupe Melon Duck Rolls & Mint Confit, Raspberry Gastric Baby Shrimp Cocktail, Marie Rose & Pumpkin Seed Biscuit Roasted Corn Chowder

Chilled Tomato Soup with Gin & Basil

Sandwiches — Butter Lettuce, Romaine, Choice of Dressings Selection of Cold Meats is Always Available

Croque Monsieur - Warm Ham & Cheese Sandwich

Salads and Soups — Symphony of Seafood - Scallops, Salmon Mousse with Caviar & Tartare of Salmon Sevruga Caviar on Buck Wheat Blini

Escargots Bourguignonne in Garlic Herb Butter

Atlantic Seafood Bisque, Tarragon Pernod Cream

Beef Consommé with Herbed Pancake Strips

Chilled Artichoke Velouté

Coffee, Tea, Milk, Orange Juice

Two hours later Bill felt as though he was waddling away from the table. He decided to walk it off and walked the complete deck three times before going to bed.

His days became routine as he ate his meal then walked the deck. After lunch the second day he went to the ship’s gym but was turned off by the fact that the passengers wore their everyday street clothing to work out. He stuck to walking the deck.

The trip across the Atlantic took eleven days and soon he was standing on the sun drenched London dock taking in all the sights of the times. A little elderly lady selling fish out of a cart that seemed too big for her to push around called out her wares as men of all sizes did the same as they tried to push in front of her. Bill grinned as women who came to the dock to buy fish for their dinner squeezed through to buy from her. Little boys of six and seven years of age tried to shine your boots using a footstool that was almost their size. Other women with heavy makeup on walked slowly through the crowd trying to sell companionship only to be chased by the local Bobby who kept them moving with his nightstick. As on the docks in New York cats and dogs fought over the rats that scampered between the shafts of sunlight to get back into the dark shadows.

Bill found himself still debating whether or not he should see the woman he loved. This time travel stuff is crazy: you have to have an outstanding memory. I mean the last time I saw Shirley was in 1899 yet as this is only 1887 she won’t remember that as to her it has not happened yet. She’ll only remember the last time she saw me, which I think it was earlier this year. He shook his head, Oh man this is crazy!

“Cab, mister?”

Bill looked up to see a thin man with a tall hat and long overcoat with a blanket over his lap holding the reins of his small brown horse. He sat on the bench seat in the front of the two-wheeled, black with red trim carriage with his foot on the brake.

The cab driver had unknowingly made up his mind for him. “Sure!” Bill said as he hopped in, “221B Baker Street, please.” The driver acknowledged him by flicking the leather rein onto the horse’s rear and they pulled away on the cobblestone street.

The narrow streets were crowded as the Londoners took advantage of the sunshine to stroll the city and it took fifteen minutes longer than the usual twenty minutes to get to Shirley’s flat on Baker Street. Bill paid the man and exited the carriage by stepping onto the square block of stone placed on the sidewalk for just that reason. Actually, he thought to himself, although this street is now cobblestoned these blocks were placed here so that ladies would not drag their long dresses through the mud of the earlier packed-dirt streets.

The flat on the second floor of 221B was on the dark side as the Victorian style of dark wooden floors with scattered dark colored area rugs drained any light that came in through the two windows. The window’s heavy, deep red drapes blocked out more of the sunlight as they tended to settle in the center of the slightly bent brass rods that supported them. The room was full with over-stuffed furniture and throw pillows with long tassels on the ends. Two of the walls were dark brown floor-to-ceiling bookcases filled with scientific, medical and other research books. A large, round cherry wood table which was almost centered in the room was piled high with two sweaters, one long wide brown scarf curled like a snake about to strike, two key rings full with keys, a shoe with a broken heel, a leather pocketbook with a ripped strap, a small dagger and sheath, two hats; one a deer stalker the other a Sunday-go-to-meeting type, three tea cups with dry tealeaves in them, five newspapers with holes in them where the ads were torn out and a pistol that was under repair. Two wooden chairs were tucked under the table. Against one wall was an overstuffed dark brown couch with two pillows on one end suggesting that it was often used as a bed and against the other wall was a small fireplace with a grill to keep the embers in. The two gas lamps affixed to the walls sputtered and fought against the slight breeze that entered the room, but Mrs. Hudson, the landlady, swore that they were fighting for their life against the darkness of the room.

A tall beautiful woman stepped out of the bathroom, her long dark brown hair wrapped up in a towel. She fought to hold the robe closed with one hand as she held the towel on her head in place with the other while running to the small four burner gas stove to shut off the flame beneath a boiling pot of water. She took a teaspoon of dark tealeaves out of an open box and put it in a cup before adding the steaming water. She then sat at one of the two wooden chairs at the table and blew out through pursed lips.

“Finally! My first cup of the day.” She helped the tealeaves turn the water dark by squishing them against the side of the cup, something that her friend Doctor John Watson said did nothing but lessen the beauty of the cup of tea as it brewed naturally. “The tealeaves must be allowed to transition in a normal way, not by smashing them.” But, she thought, John never seemed to be in a hurry.

Finally satisfied that the tealeaves could give off nothing more she took a sip, rolled her eyes and sat back. A soft knock at her door brought her back to her senses.

Not Doctor Watson’s knock, nor Mrs. Hudson’s. No delivery boy ever knocks, they bang on the door and besides I’ve ordered nothing. A salesman would have knocked on Mrs. Hudson’s door first and be promptly tossed out of the building. She glanced at her face in the small round mirror on the wall above the wooden icebox and quickly pulled loose the towel and shook her hair loose as she came down to a few other possibilities, Moriarty? Has he found out my disguise? She picked up the dagger off of the table as she slowly advanced towards the door just as the person knocked again. She shook her head and came to her final conclusion, That double knock, sort of a tapping, the twenty-five seconds between the knockings shows someone with patience . . . "Oh my Lord, its Bill!” She quickly opened the door and threw her arms around him, “Oh, Bill. This is such a wonderful surprise! Why didn’t you let me know you were coming?” Before he even got to say hello she added, “Come in, come in I’ve just made a cup of tea.” He stepped in and she closed the door and they kissed. They held each other in their arms almost afraid to let go for fear of waking from a dream. Finally there was another knock at the door and without letting go she said, “Yes, Mrs. Hudson? Is there a post for me?”

There was a slight shuffling on the other side of the door as Shirley did the ‘hush’ sign with her finger over her lips to Bill.

“Uh, no, no post, dearie. I just wondered if a salesman got past me as I was hanging clothes out the back window. It sounded like someone knocking on a door.”

“No, no salesman here.”

“Uh, did you say nobody was there with you?”

Shirley smiled and answered the nosey landlady, “No I didn’t say that, dearie, I said no salesman was here with me.”

After a few moments of silence the landlady said, “Well if you are entertaining Doctor Watson, I’d love to ask him a question about my poor large toe. As you know it bothers me some in the damp weather.”

She answered teasingly, “Yes, I know and you must be pleased with the weather today. However it is not the good doctor that I’m with.”

Now the shuffling was constant and after another few moments the landlady asked, “Well, as I’m here might I come in and collect the curtains as I’m doing the wash today?”

Shirley shook her head at her persistence and said as she unlocked the door, “Why of course. I’ll get them for you.”

The little chubby woman entered and seeing Bill said, “Oh, Oh my dear, had I known you had company I would have put it off until a better time.” She smiled and did an old fashioned curtsy, “I’m Mrs. Hudson, sir. This is my building.”

Bill did a small bow back, “And I’m Bill Scott. So very nice to meet you.”