people who didn't fit in this world?"

"Sure I remember," I says. "What's this got to do with it?"

"What if people could choose the type of world they wanted to live in?"

I looks at him blankly. "I don't get it."

He fishes around for his pipe and lights up. "How big's the universe, Harry?"

"Now son, I got no idea how big the universe is and I says so. All I know is that it's big."

"Most scientists say the universe is infinite," Joe explains. "And if it's infinite, then it must have an infinite number of worlds in it. An actual world to match whatever kind of world you can dream up, let's say. All you have to do is step into the Paradise booth, put on the cap, visualize the kind of world you want to live in so it shows on the screen, and off you go!"

"You're kidding," I says feebly. "You don't really mean it."

He taps me on the chest with his finger and says: "Yes, I do really mean it, Harry. I've tried it and it works!"

And there I thought I had him. "If you went off to another world," I says slyly, "just how did you get back?"

"Built myself another machine," he says promptly.

I snapped the trap shut. "Just picked this world out of all the millions there are? Just like that."

Joe grinned. "I just thought of the damnedest world that I could, and here I was!"

Well, he had me. There wasn't much more I could say. Joe's idea, of course, was to build machines and put them on the street corners like you would newspaper stands. He figured that all the misfits and the unhappy people would sneak out and use them and whisht, off they'd fly to their own favorite world, leaving all us well-adjusted people behind. He even had a slogan figured out. "Paradise—for only a quarter!"

You see, he figured he'd have to charge a quarter not only to pay for the machines but because people are just naturally suspicious of anything they get for free....

oe and Wally Claus rigged up three of the machines and installed them on some of the better known street corners around Fremont. Joe had trouble getting a license to do it, but when he told the city fathers what the machines did, they figured the best way to discourage a crackpot was to let him go ahead and flop on his own.

And he came close to doing it. Those booths just sat on the street corners all summer and gathered dust. People called them Shannon's folly, which didn't help things with Marge any.

And then one day, Barney Muhlenberg disappeared. We thought he might have gotten drunk and fallen in the river and we spent a good two days dragging it. And then we looked in at his rooming house but we didn't find a thing except thirty-nine empty bottles and a rusty opener.

It was Joe who first discovered what had happened. He got hold of me and we went down to the Paradise booth on the corner just opposite from Schultz's Bar and Grill. There was a quarter in the coin till and when I looked at the screen, I knew Barney had taken off.

Well, everybody's happy. Joe's glad that his machine has finally caught on, Barney is probably happy playing Cowboys and Indians even though he's way too old for it, and the town is happy because its worst sanitary problem has just eliminated itself.

The news gets spread around and everybody starts laying odds on who's gonna be the next to go. Nobody goes near the booths for about a week, and then the kids start passing around a rumor Saturday morning that Miss Alice Markey has submitted her resignation to the school board and is packing to leave town.

The town splits. Half the people figure she'll be sensible and leave by bus. The other half, myself included, station ourselves at the Paradise booth that's nearest to her apartment. Along about noon, Miss Alice shows up. She's pale and determined looking, all dressed