“How do you feel?” asked Dr. Hudson.

“Excellent,” boomed High-Pockets, straightening up.

The physicist went around to the other side, and though I had been watching these experiments for some time, I give you my word I very nearly choked on my own tongue when I saw High-Pockets Jones walk out of the second compartment.

The second High-Pockets produced a worn billfold and extracted a pink union permit.

“I protest this inhuman manipulation of a man’s individuality,” said the chairman indignantly; “this is outrageous.”

I felt better now. I’d been waiting for that. “Let him go to work,” I said. “We need an operator today, anyway; Bill Smith has the flu. I will guarantee to pay a man’s wages to whomever you say, if this is found to be illegal.”

Under the law, there wasn’t much they could do. And I had already taken the precaution of retaining the best legal counsel in the city.

I was elated when they went to work. I pumped Dr. Hudson’s hand and assured him that we had indeed made spectacular history, and together we could make millions.

The first trouble came an hour later. One of the High-Pocketses⁠—I couldn’t tell which one⁠—came into the office. “The foreman sent me up to get some work,” he said in his booming voice.

I frowned. What was going on back there? I went back, High-Pockets Jones was working on his own machine. High-Pockets Jones was also working on Bill Smith’s machine. I looked up quickly. High-Pockets Jones was also standing beside me.