Transcriber's Note:
This etext was produced from Comet, July 1941. Extensive research didnot uncover any evidence that the U.S. copyright on this publicationwas renewed.
The Street That
Wasn't There
by CLIFFORD D. SIMAK and CARL JACOBI
Mr. Jonathon Chambers left his house on Maple Street at exactlyseven o'clock in the evening and set out on the daily walk he hadtaken, at the same time, come rain or snow, for twenty solidyears.
The walk never varied. He paced two blocks down Maple Street,stopped at the Red Star confectionery to buy a Rose Troferoperfecto, then walked to the end of the fourth block on Maple.There he turned right on Lexington, followed Lexington to Oak,down Oak and so by way of Lincoln back to Maple again and to hishome.
He didn't walk fast. He took his time. He always returned to hisfront door at exactly 7:45. No one ever stopped to talk withhim. Even the man at the Red Star confectionery, where he boughthis cigar, remained silent while the purchase was being made. Mr.Chambers merely tapped on the glass top of the counter with acoin, the man reached in and brought forth the box, and Mr.Chambers took his cigar. That was all.
For people long ago had gathered that Mr. Chambers desired to beleft alone. The newer generation of townsfolk called iteccentricity. Certain uncouth persons had a different word forit. The oldsters remembered that this queer looking individualwith his black silk muffler, rosewood cane and bowler hat oncehad been a professor at State University.
A professor of metaphysics, they seemed to recall, or some suchoutlandish subject. At any rate a furore of some sort wasconnected with his name ... at the time an academic scandal. Hehad written a book, and he had taught the subject matter of thatvolume to his classes. What that subject matter was, had long beenforgotten, but whatever it was had been considered sufficientlyrevolutionary to cost Mr. Chambers his post at the university.
A silver moon shone over the chimney tops and a chill, impishOctober wind was rustling the dead leaves when Mr. Chambersstarted out at seven o'clock.
It was a good night, he told himself, smelling the clean, crispair of autumn and the faint pungence of distant wood smoke.
He walked unhurriedly, swinging his cane a bit less jauntily thantwenty years ago. He tucked the muffler more securely under therusty old topcoat and pulled his bowler hat more firmly on hishead.
He noticed that the street light at the corner of Maple andJefferson was out and he grumbled a little to himself when he wasforced to step off the walk to circle a boarded-off section ofnewly-laid concrete work before the driveway of 816.
It seemed that he reached the corner of Lexington and Maple justa bit too quickly, but he told himself that this couldn't be. Forhe never did that. For twenty years, since the year following hisexpulsion from the university, he had lived by the clock.
The same thing, at the same time, day after day. He had notdeliberately set upon such a life of routine. A bachelor, livingalone with sufficient money to supply his humble needs, the timedexistence had grown on him gradually.
So he turned on Lexington and back on Oak. The dog at the cornerof Oak and Jefferson was waiting for him once again and came outsnarling and growling, snapping at his heels. But Mr. Chamberspretended not to notice and the beast gave up the chase.