Sam, This is You
He stayed home that night, worrying, and every so often trying to call himself up on the device he had invented and been told--by himself--to modify. It was a nice gadget, but Sam did not enjoy it. It was a nice night, too. There was moonlight. But Sam did not enjoy that, either.
Moonlight wouldn't do Sam any good so long as there was another him in the middle of the week after next, refusing to talk to him so he could get out of the fix he was in.
* * * * *
Next morning, though, the phone woke him. He swore at it out of habit until he got out of bed, and then he realized that his gadget was hooked in and Central was cut off. He made it in one jump to the instrument.
"Don't fret," said his own voice patronizingly. "Rosi