He folded his arms and began to review in cold blood the circumstances
which had led to his present situation in a cross-town car. Number one,
and he held up one finger:
As it comes, at times, to every normal human, the odd idea had come to
him that what he was saying and doing as he emerged from the subway at
Times Square was what he had, sometime, somewhere, said and done before
under similar circumstances. That was the beginning.
Number two, and he gravely held up a second finger:
Always before when this idea had come to bother him it had faded after a
moment or two, leaving him merely uneasy and dissatisfied.
This time it persisted--intruding, annoying, exasperating him in his
efforts to remember things which he could not recollect.
Number three, and he held up a third finger:
He _had_ begun to remember! As soon as he or Smith said or did anything
he recollected having said or done it sometime, somewhere, or recollected
that he _ought_ to have.
Number four--four fingers in air, stiff, determined digits:
He had not only, by a violent concentration of his memory, succeeded in
recognizing the things said and done as having been said and done before,
but suddenly he became aware that he was going to be able to foretell,
vaguely, certain incidents that were yet to occur--like the prophesied
advent of the cherry-colored car and the hat, gown, and wicker basket.
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