“Oh, you don’t need to. I earned it; I’ve got it coming. I was just a little too ambitious, that’s all. I didn’t know a man could be too ambitious.”

High-Pockets looked at me. His deep eyes were thoughtful. I could almost see the neurons buzzing around in his head.

“If I could get this job out for you on time, would that save the day?”

“Probably.” I laughed⁠—or tried to. “But it is now a physical impossibility. There isn’t enough time.”

High-Pockets said sharply, “Call a truck,” and wheeled out of the office.

I called the delivery truck before I realized what I had done. Well, it didn’t make any difference. They could start hauling out the machinery.

I finished cleaning out my desk and took a wastebasket full of papers to the back shop.

And there, I give you my word, three High-Pocketses were busy carrying galleys from the type-dump to the proof-press. And as fast as they could carry a galley of type from the dump, another galley would just materialize there. I stood and stared. Galleys of type were coming out of thin air at the rate of about four galleys a minute.

I went over to where High-Pockets⁠—the original High-Pockets, I suppose⁠—was sitting at his machine. “Would you please tell me what is going on?” I asked.

“Well,” said High-Pockets, “it isn’t so complicated. I just sent the other five back in time to set this job, that’s all. They’ve gone back about twelve weeks; and of course there isn’t much time, so I had to make them double up. I’ve got them split up into shifts, along with a double of the chairman there, to cover the six machines. It’s a little hard to explain, whether they are split up in time, or the time-split ones are split up in place, or just what.”