 What was surprising to Jerome about the papers that were retrieved with the generator?
[Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from Galaxy Science Fiction February 1951. Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed. There is one fact no sane man can quarrel with ... But some men aren't sane; thus it isn't always so! I'm not your father's ghost, even if I do look a bit like him. You will, you know, so why quibble about it? At least, you always have ... or do ... or will. And naturally, since we have the same tastes, you can make the same for me as you're having. And you can look at the revenue stamp date, if you still doubt my story. It's a real wrench when a man meets himself for the first time. Some kind of telepathy seems to work between two of the same people. So let's begin when you get up in half an hour and come out with me. Yes, it'll be pretty obvious it must be a time machine. You've seen it, just a small little cage with two seats, a luggage compartment, and a few buttons on a dash. You'll be puzzling over what I'll tell you, and you'll be getting used to the idea that you are the man who makes atomic power practical. Jerome Boell, just a plain engineer, the man who put atomic power in every home. You won't exactly believe it, but you'll want to go along. You can see a sort of foggy nothing surrounding the cockpit; it is probably the field that prevents passage through time from affecting us. You start to say something, but by then I'm pressing a black button, and everything outside will disappear. You are completely outside of time and space, as best you can guess how things are. Doesn't hurt, and when you pull your arm back, you're still sound and uninjured. Then it comes to you slowly that you're actually traveling in time. Then you feel silly, because you'll remember that I said you'd ask that. Well, I asked it after I was told, then I came back and told it to you, and I still can't help answering when you speak. "Maybe it's no dimension—or it might be the fifth; if you're going to skip over the so-called fourth without traveling along it, you'd need a fifth.
 They were all in his own handwriting.
 They were all in his own handwriting.  They were copies of what he already had at home.  They were exact duplicates for what the futuristic Jerome had brought when he visited.  They were forged.