“Nontuplets,” suggested one High-Pockets.

“Why”⁠—the lawyer seemed to be overwhelmed by the enormity of the damages he was visualizing⁠—“that could amount to millions.”

I was desperate for an idea, but it wasn’t any use. They were taking it out of my hands. I saw the righteous light in the eyes of those men, and I knew it was all over.

But High-Pockets⁠—or one of him⁠—spoke up. “Is it your intention,” he asked me, “to keep the time-machine and the extender?”

“No,” I said. “I rather thought I’d get rid of the whole business; it’s much too complicated. Anyway, you boys out there came through with superhuman efforts this afternoon. I don’t think I’d ask you to be in two places at once again.”

High-Pockets turned to the lawyer. “If the receivers agree to let the plant operate as long as it shows a profit,” he said, “we’ll all go back together and then you can break up the extender and there won’t be any more trouble. If you don’t agree to that”⁠—he paused⁠—“we’ll stay in nine bodies and sue you every time we get a chance.”

The lawyer winced. The receivers went into conference. Finally they said, a little anxiously, “If the Messiers High-Pockets will be good enough to go back together, and if Mr. Shane will destroy the machine, we are agreeable to the plant’s continuance as a printing office.”

“Hooray!” I said, and nine High-Pocketses yelled hooray.

I was exultant. I shook hands with each one of the High-Pocketses as they filed into the extender. When there was only one left; he shook hands with me.

“What’s the matter?” I asked.