1 The Time Traveler

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CHAPTER 1 The Time Traveler I will call my friend the Time Traveler. It was Thursday, and I was on my way to his house. He had invited me to dinner, and it was such a lovely evening that I decided to walk. The streets of London were busy with people enjoying the night. Horse-drawn carriages rattled by. The flickering flames of streetlamps began to light

my way. As I crossed the River Thames, I saw the last rays of the setting sun reflected in the water. By the time I arrived at the Time Traveler's home, it was night. My friend Filby was there, along with the mayor, the doctor, and the artist. After a wonderful meal, we moved to the study. The fire in the fireplace and the burning lamps and candles made the room glow. The lights of the city shone through the windows. Our friend the Time Traveler was an inventor. Some of the odd devices he had made were scattered on the shelves and tables around us. Once we all sat down, he began to speak, his gray eyes twinkling and his face red with excitement. "Listen carefully," he said, moving his hands about as he talked. "What I'm going to describe will sound very strange to you. You will probably have a hard time believing me. The reason it will sound far-fetched is because it

means that much of what you were taught in school was wrong." "That does sound strange," said Filby. "I know," said the Time Traveler. "But let me explain." He paused, took a breath, and continued. "Now, we've all been taught that every object has three dimensions—length, width, and height. For example, that box sitting on the table is about six inches long, four inches wide, and two inches high." "That's right," said the artist slowly, looking puzzled. "And you would say that the box has three dimensions and no more. After all, what is there besides length, width, and height? Correct?" The Time Traveler paused and looked around the room. "Well, you would be wrong. What they don't teach in you school is that everything also has afourth dimension. And without that fourth dimension, nothing would exist."

"I don't understand," Filby interrupted. "The box only has three dimensions—and there it is as plain as the nose on my face." "But wait," said our friend. "I built that box in my workshop a year ago. What if I threw it in the fireplace this very moment and it burned to ashes? We would say that the box existed for one year. And what if I had burned it after only a day? Then we would say that the box had existed for one day. Even if I destroyed the box after one second, we would say that the box existed—for that one second." "I think I follow," said the mayor. The Time Traveler leaned forward. "But what if the box didn't last for even a second? What if it didn't last for any time at all? Would we say that it was real, that it ever existed? "Clearly," said the Time Traveler, "the box must exist in four dimensions to be real. It must have length, width, height—and it must exist in time. Time is the fourth dimension. And there is

no difference between time and the other three dimensions." "But even if time is a dimension, there is a difference," said the doctor. "I can move to my left and right. I can move backward and forward. And I can move up and down. But I can't move through time." "But you can move through time," said our friend with great excitement. "For one thing, we are always moving forward through time—from the moment we are born to the day we die." "Yes, but with the other three dimensions, I can move in both directions," said the artist. "I can't move backward and forward in time." "But that is where you are wrong," said the Time Traveler. "We move left and right or back and forth with the help of our legs, or a boat, or a carriage. We can move up and down with the help of stairs, a ladder, or a hot-air balloon. "And, with the right means, I say we can go back and forth through time. I say we can go