The Time Machine, by HG Wells – II. The machine

The Time Machine, by HG Wells, is part of the HackerNoon series of books. You can skip to any chapter in this book here. II. The machine

II. The machine

The thing the Time Traveler held in his hand was a shimmering metal frame, barely larger than a small clock, and very delicately crafted. There was ivory in it and a transparent crystalline substance. And now I must be explicit, because what follows — unless its explanation is accepted — is something absolutely inexplicable. He picked up one of the small octagonal tables scattered around the room and placed it in front of the fire, both feet on the hearth mat.

On this table he placed the mechanism. Then he pulled out a chair and sat down. The only other object on the table was a small shaded lamp, the bright light of which fell on the model. There were also maybe a dozen candles, two in brass candlesticks on the mantel and several in sconces, so the room was brightly lit. I sat down in a low chair by the fire, and moved it forward so that I was almost between the Time Traveler and the fireplace. Filby sat behind him, looking over his shoulder. The doctor and the provincial mayor looked at him in profile on the right, the psychologist on the left. The Very Young Man stood behind the Psychologist. We were all on alert. It seems to me incredible that any trick, so subtly conceived and so skilfully executed, could have been played on us under these conditions.

The Time Traveler looked at us, then looked at the mechanism. “Good?” said the psychologist.

“This little thing,” said the Time Traveler, resting his elbows on the table and clasping his hands over the device, “is only a model. This is my plan for a machine to travel in time. You’ll notice that it looks oddly crooked and there’s a strange flickering appearance to this bar, as if it’s somehow unreal. He gestures around the room with his finger. “Too , here is a little white lever, and here is another.”

The doctor got up from his chair and looked into the thing. “It’s beautifully done,” he said.

“It took two years to do it,” retorted the Time Traveler. Then, when we had all imitated the action of the Doctor, he said: “Now I want you to understand that this lever, being pressed, causes the machine to slide into the future, and this other reverses the movement. This saddle represents the seat of a time traveler. I will now press the lever and the machine will turn off. It will fade away, pass into future time and disappear. Take a good look at it. Also look at the board and make sure there is no trickery. I don’t want to ruin this model, and then they’ll call me a charlatan.

There was perhaps a minute’s pause. The psychologist seemed about to talk to me, but changed his mind. Then the Time Traveler advanced his finger towards the lever. “No,” he said suddenly. “Give me your hand.” And turning to the psychologist, he took the hand of this individual in his and told him to advance his index finger. It was therefore the Psychologist himself who sent the model of the Time Machine on its endless journey. We have all seen the lever turn. I am absolutely certain that there was no cheating. There was a gust of wind and the flame of the lamp jumped. One of the candles in the mantel went out, and the little machine spun around sharply, became indistinct, appeared like a ghost for a second perhaps, like a whirlwind of faintly glittering brass and ivory; and it was gone—disappeared! Except for the lamp, the table was bare.

Everyone was silent for a minute. Then Filby said he was damned.

The psychologist snapped out of his stupor and suddenly looked under the table. At that, the Time Traveler laughs happily. “Good?” he said, with a reminiscence of the psychologist. Then, getting up, he walked over to the tobacco-pot on the mantelpiece and, turning his back to us, began to fill his pipe.

We looked at each other. “Listen, said the doctor, are you serious about this? Do you seriously believe that this machine traveled back in time?

“Certainly,” said the Time Traveler, stooping to light a fire spill. Then he turned, lighting his pipe, to look at the Psychologist’s face. (The Psychologist, to show that he was not disturbed, used a cigar and tried to light it without cutting it.) is assembled, I mean to take a trip on my own account.

“You mean this machine traveled to the future? Philby said.

“In the future or the past – I don’t know, for sure which one.”

After an interval, the psychologist had an inspiration. “It must have happened in the past if he went anywhere,” he said.

“Why?” said the Time Traveler.

“Because I assume he didn’t travel through space, and if he traveled into the future, he would still be there all this time, since he must have traveled through that time.”

‘But,’ I said, ‘if he had traveled back in time, he would have been visible when we first entered this room; and last Thursday when we were here; and the Thursday before; And so on!”

“Serious objections,” remarked the Provincial Mayor impartially, turning to the Time Traveler.

“Not a bit,” said the Time Traveler, and, to the Psychologist: “You think. You can explain that. It’s a sub-threshold presentation, you know, a watered-down presentation.

“Of course,” said the psychologist, and reassured us. “It’s a simple point of psychology. I should have thought of that. It’s pretty clear and helps the paradox deliciously. We cannot see it, or appreciate this machine, any more than we can the spoke of a spinning wheel or a ball flying through the air. If he travels through time fifty times or a hundred times faster than us, if he passes a minute while we pass a second, the impression he creates will of course be only a fiftieth or a hundredth of what ‘he would. do if he wasn’t time traveling. It’s pretty clear. He ran his hand through the space where the machine was. “You see?” he said laughing.

We sat down and stared at the vacant table for about a minute. Then the Time Traveler asked us what we thought of all this.

“It seems pretty plausible tonight,” said the doctor; “but wait until tomorrow.” Wait for common sense in the morning.

“Would you like to see the Time Machine itself? asked the Time Traveler. And thereupon, taking the lamp in his hand, he opened the long, drafty hallway to his laboratory. I vividly remember the flickering light, its strange, wide silhouette, the dance of shadows, the way we all followed it, puzzled but in disbelief, and how, in the laboratory, we saw a larger edition of the small mechanism we had seen. disappear before our eyes. Parts were nickel, parts ivory, parts had certainly been filed or sawn from rock crystal. The thing was mostly complete, but the twisted crystalline bars lay unfinished on the bench next to some drawing sheets, and I picked one up to see it better. It appeared to be quartz.

“Listen,” said the doctor, “are you perfectly serious? Or is it something, like that ghost you showed us last Christmas? »

“On this machine,” said the Time Traveler, holding the lamp aloft, “I intend to explore time. Is that clear? I’ve never been so serious in my life.

None of us really knew how to take it.

I met Filby’s gaze over the doctor’s shoulder and he gave me a solemn wink.

About the HackerNoon Book Series: We bring you the most important technical, scientific, and insightful books in the public domain.

This book is in the public domain. H. G. Wells (1992). The time machine. Urbana, IL: Project Gutenberg. Consulted in October 2022, on https://www.gutenberg.org/files/35/35-h/35-h.htm

This eBook is intended for use by anyone, anywhere, at no cost and with almost no restrictions. You may copy, give away, or reuse it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg license included with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.orglocated at https://www.gutenberg.org/policy/license.html.

LOADING
. . . comments & After!