Seven was afraid to go out into the hall; he hoped against hope that when he left George’s study, somehow he’d be back in the twentieth-century house. No such luck, he thought, finding the hall as it had been before. He stepped into the small closet where his body was sleeping comfortably. He dove into his body as quickly as he could, even though several questions instantly came to mind.

Who would see his body, for example? If Mrs. Norway saw him, in the nineteenth-century house—well, he was in trouble. He reeked of the twentieth century, decked out as he was in a summer polyester suit whose style and material would be quite strange to her. To say nothing of the digital watch—a nice touch, he thought, though that at least he could hide in his pocket. He couldn’t change into either of the Georges’ clothes, because both Georges were too short and pudgy for the body Seven had decided upon. While he was thinking about all this, Oversoul Seven very gingerly walked down the stairs to the second floor, which was still nineteenth-century. And then, with his heart in his throat he started down the front stairs that came out in the front entry.

Or suppose George the Third saw him, Seven wondered; then that would mean that George would experience the house in the past as Seven was. Didn’t it? Or—he shuddered—suppose both George the Third and Mrs. Norway saw him simultaneously. Or suppose….

He stepped onto the slate floor of the entryway. At the same time, both Mrs. Norway and George the Third approached, though the room itself was solid nineteenth-century. “Back,” George announced. “Chores all done. Super!” he said, bounding across the room. He loosened his tie, tossed his light summer jacket over what appeared to be a nineteenth-century armchair, and said, “I’ve got some great new jokes, though.”

“Ah, zounds,” Seven said.

“What?” George asked, surprised.

“Uh, I mean, super,” Seven replied, blushing and realizing his mistake. “Uh, do you see anything different about the house? Or that chair?”

Seven felt dizzy. As he spoke to George, who obviously saw him, Mrs. Norway (who obviously saw neither Seven nor George) was bending over the broken vase on the rug and murmuring, “Now how did that happen?” Seven closed his eyes a moment in true despair.

“What’s wrong with the chair? It looks okay to me,” George said. “Everything looks okay to me. It’s been a super day, garbage or no garbage.” He grinned at Seven, sat down (in the mohair chair, as far as Seven was concerned), and said, “Well, what have you been up to?”