Clothes maketh the man.
It was so simple. I laughed and laughed when he told me how to do it, how to travel back in time. How no one else had thought of it before was beyond me. I opened the notebook.
“What are these?” I pointed at the words on the page.
“Bets you can put on, you’ll need money. And don’t rely on the money in your pocket being worth anything as you go back, currency is forever changing, it’s a bloody nuisance.
“But these are all races that have already been run, the pages at the front have been torn out.”
“Well yes, I’ve already bet on those, I can’t risk making the same bet twice. Once you‘re underway, the races that have been run or the Lotto draws that have been drawn won‘t have. See?”
“Ah, of course.“ I stood up and popped the notebook in my bag.
“Now,” He rummaged about in his own bag, this time withdrawing a folder, “this contains everything you’ll need to know. The date and location the photograph was taken, a copy of the photograph, some forged documents and a forged letter of introduction from a prominent French scientist. And don’t forget to dress the part, it’s important to fit in. And enjoy the wedding.”
With that, the time traveler stood, plucked a top hat and goggles from the luggage shelf, bowed in a most flamboyant manner, one more suited to a curtain call at a civic pantomime than to a diesel train thundering north, and was never there.
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