"Phoebe Wise, what do you mean!" exclaimed Rebecca. "Why, it would be jest like robbery to take Mr. Milliken's syrup, an' palm it off as Mr. Droop's. I'm surprised at ye!"
This attack upon the ethical plane struck Phoebe speechless. She blushed and stammered, but had no reply to make. The seeming defeat really concealed a victory, however, for it instantly converted Copernicus into an ally.
"You don't understand the thing, Cousin Rebecca," he said, gently but firmly. "Ye see ef we go six years back, it'll be a time when Mr. Milliken hadn't ever thought of his cough syrup. How could we be robbin' him of somethin' he hasn't got?"
Rebecca looked confused for a moment, but was not to be so easily convinced.
"'Tain't somethin' he ain't thought of," she said, stoutly. "He's makin' money out of it, an' ef we get back before him, why, when time comes agin for him to invent it he won't have it to invent. I'm sure that's jest as bad as robbin' him, ain't it?"
Phoebe looked anxiously at Copernicus and was much pleased to find him apparently unmoved.
"Why, you certainly don't understand this yet," he insisted. "Milliken ain't agoin' back six years with us, is he? He'll jest go right along livin' as he's ben doin'."
"What!" Rebecca exclaimed. "Will he be livin' in one time an' we be livin' in another--both at the same--" She stopped. What _was_ she saying!
"No--no!" replied Copernicus. "He'll go on livin'. That's what he _will_ do. We'll go on havin' lived. Or to put it different--we _have_ gone on livin' after we get back six years--to 1892. Ye see, we really have past all the six years--so the's no harm in it. Milliken won't be hurt."
Rebecca glanced at Phoebe, in whose face she found her own perplexity reflected. Then, throwing out her hands, as though pushing away her crowding mental obstructions, she cried:
"There--there! I can't get the hang of it. It's too much for me!"
"Oh, when you've done it once it'll be all easy and clear," said Droop, soothingly.
"Will you take us, Mr. Droop?" she asked.
She ran to the door and, pausing here, turned again to their visitor.
"Yes, indeed!" he replied. "The sooner the better."
"That's splendid!" she cried, and ran quickly up the stairs.
The two older people sat for a while in melancholy silence, looking down. Each had hoped for more than this. Copernicus tried to convince himself that the profit from the cough syrup would comfort him for his disappointment. Rebecca dismissed with a sigh the dreams which she had allowed herself to entertain--those bright fictions centering on Joe Chandler--not the subdued old bachelor of 1898, but the jolly young fellow of the famous Centennial year.