I do not think any of us truly believed in the Time Machine. The Time Traveller was a very clever man, and we often thought he was just playing a trick on us. Because of this, we did not talk much about time travel during the week.
The next Thursday, I went to his house for dinner again. I arrived late and found five other men in the living room. The Medical Man and the Psychologist were there, along with an Editor, a Journalist, and a quiet man with a beard.
"It is half-past seven," the Medical Man said. "I suppose we should have dinner." He showed us a note from the Time Traveller. It said that he was busy, but we should start eating without him. He promised to explain everything when he returned.
We sat down to eat. The Psychologist started to tell the new guests about the "clever trick" with the model machine. He was still speaking when the door opened slowly and quietly.
"Hello!" I said. "At last!"
The door opened wider, and the Time Traveller stood in front of us.
"Good heavens, man! What is the matter?" cried the Medical Man. We all turned to look at him.
The Time Traveller looked terrible. His coat was dirty and covered in green dust. His hair was messy and looked greyer than before. His face was completely pale, and he had a brown, half-healed cut on his chin. He looked like a man who had suffered terribly. For a moment, he stood in the doorway, blinded by the bright light. Then he walked into the room. He walked with a heavy limp, like a man whose feet hurt badly. We stared at him in silence, waiting for him to speak.
He did not say a word. He walked slowly and painfully to the table and pointed at the wine. The Editor filled a glass with champagne and pushed it towards him. He drank it quickly, and it seemed to make him feel better. A small smile appeared on his face.
"What on earth have you been doing?" asked the Medical Man.
"I am all right," the Time Traveller said quietly. "I am going to wash and change my clothes. Then I will come down and explain things. Please, save me some meat. I am starving."
He put down his glass and walked to the door. As he left, I looked down at his feet. He had no shoes on. He was only wearing a pair of torn, blood-stained socks.
After he left, everyone started talking at once.
"What is going on?" asked the Journalist. "Is he playing a game?"
"I am sure this has something to do with the Time Machine," I said.
The new guests did not believe it. The Editor laughed. "What is time travel? A man does not get covered in dust by travelling through time, does he? Do they not have clothes brushes in the Future?" The Journalist joined in, making jokes about the whole idea.
Suddenly, the Time Traveller came back. He was wearing clean evening clothes, but his face still looked tired and thin. He sat down at his place without a word.
"Where is my meat?" he asked. "What a wonderful thing it is to eat meat again!"
"Tell us your story!" cried the Editor.
"No," said the Time Traveller. "I want something to eat first. I will not say a word until I have food in my stomach."
"Just one word," I said. "Have you been time travelling?"
"Yes," he said, nodding his head with his mouth full of food.
The rest of the dinner was quiet but uncomfortable. We all had so many questions, but the Time Traveller only focused on his food. He ate like a starving animal. Finally, he pushed his plate away and looked at us.
"I am sorry," he said. "I was simply starving. I have had the most amazing time." He picked up a cigar. "Let us go into the smoking room. The story is too long to tell over dirty plates."
We followed him into the next room and sat down comfortably.
"I will tell you the story of what has happened to me," he said, leaning back in his chair. "But you must promise not to interrupt me. I want to tell it badly. Most of it will sound like a lie. But it is true—every single word of it. I was in my laboratory at four o'clock this afternoon. Since then, I have lived eight days... such days as no human being has ever lived before! I am very tired, but I will not sleep until I have told you everything. But remember, no interruptions! Do you agree?"
"Agreed," said the Editor, and the rest of us said the same.
And with that, the Time Traveller began his amazing story. At first, he spoke like a very tired man. But as he went on, he became more excited. The room was dark, except for a small lamp that shone on his pale, serious face. We stopped looking at each other and only watched him, listening carefully to every word.