Forsyte's Retreat Page 4

have fulfilled the legend," the old man sang joyously. "You are afamous man." How famous, Sextus was forced to acknowledge as atelevision boom snaked over the heads of the crowd trailing a wisp ofcable and cast its baleful, glassy eye full into his face.

  "Two hundred years to the day, as my great-great-grandfather predicted.I am Clark Bradford, direct descendent of--"

  Sextus stared wildly up at the open window. He bounced onceexperimentally. It was a fine trampoline, and he flipped a foot off thesurface. Next bounce he flexed his knees a little and gained anotherfoot. Now he doubled up purposefully.

  The one-man-delegate in purple frowned. "Stop that. We are here towelcome you and start the celebration at the Hollywood Bowl and--Stopthat, I say!" Now he sensed Sextus' incredible intent. "Officer, helpout here, please!"

  A bulgy, bronzed fellow clad mainly in an immaculately white brassardleft the rope barrier and joined Bradford.

  The Elder screamed, "You can't go back, Forsyte! Don't you understand?You disappeared two centuries ago when the vector field collapsed. Youcan't go back! You can't! This is your destiny!"

  Sextus' heels soared five feet above the canvas and gained preciousaltitude with each spring, but it was a precarious business the higherhe went. One slip and he'd glance off at a tangent and be captured bythose reaching, grasping obscene hands in the crowd. The thought almostunseated his reason.

  The police officer asked Bradford, "What would happen if he did goback?" Then he added, "Ain't he got a right to?"

  Bradford shuffled nervously. "I don't quite know. We never consideredsuch a--my God! Stop, man, stop. You'll change the whole course ofhistory! Stop him!"

  The barelegged minion tried, but as he climbed up on the edge of thetrampoline Sextus bounced and kicked out with accuracy anddetermination. The policeman sprawled back clutching air, and the crowdroared.

  One more bounce and a half twist, now. Sextus soared up, up, and hishands touched the sill.

  With the agility of desperation he clawed up and through the panelesswindow.

  "You don't know what you are doing," the old man screeched. "Stay hereand you'll be famous. If you go back it is to oblivion. Oblivion! Very,well, _go_ back! _Go_ back, you--you nonentity!"

  "You bet," Sextus panted to himself and tumbled onto the carpeted fourthfloor hallway of the Mahoney-Plaza hotel.

  Instantly, another voice, but without accent, accosted him shrilly fromdown the hall. "You, there. You mister manager." Sextus sighed mightilywith relief. It was only Miss Genevieve Hafner holding a pimply-faced,red-haired youth by the ear.

  True, Gary Gable and two hair-pulling, female starlets bore down rightbehind her, and rooms along both sides of the corridor were disgorgingeddies of indignant displaced persons.

  But these were things he understood. These were just beefs. Somewhatmore involved than usual, but nothing much worse than a full-fledgedconvention at mid-night.

  He adjusted his mashed carnation, brushed the crumbles of old brick dustfrom his morning coat and moved into the fray.

  "Now, now, Miss Hafner! _What_ are you up to _this_ time?"

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