Tesla's Time Travelers Read Online Free PDF Page A

twins replied in stereo.
    “Sorry to hear that,” Mr. Greene said. “Victor, hand everyone a piece of eight please. This is more for Minerva’s benefit. The silver pieces of eight that Victor is passing out are, of course, ones I bought at Mel Fisher’s museum in Key West. In the colonial period they were legal tender along with British coins. So, in case our group gets separated, you have some “mad money” for food or what have you. Anderson twins, stay close to me. You never know—you might get commandeered by a militia officer looking for AWOLs. And of course, look out for chamber pots into the streets and horse droppings when crossing a street. The smell is going to get to you. It’s July in Philadelphia and people don’t bathe regularly. The first thing you’re going to think is: ‘What the smell is going on?’” Mr. Greene half-smile was a signal to his students that he had just punned. They groaned appropriately.
    What is he rambling about? Minerva thought, a furrow creasing her brow.
    Mr. Greene noticed it and responded. “Minerva, I notice your confusion…”
    “Skepticism, Mr. Greene,” Minerva said.
    Mr. Greene smiled and the other students chuckled. “Well, students, this is Minerva’s first field trip. Remember yours?” Bette Kromer’s hand was already in the air. “Bette?” Greene said, calling on her.
    “Yes. I was just like Minerva last spring on the trip to Ford’s Theater.”
    “When Victor tried to be a hero and almost tackled Booth,” Heath Anderson said.
    Minerva looked at Victor quizzically. He blushed. Do I make him blush? Minerva wondered in a moment of feminine ego.
    “Yes,” Bette said, frowning at Heath for interrupting her. “I didn’t believe any of it was possible, that the boys and Mr. Greene were teasing me, until I arrived there.”
    “Where?” Minerva asked.
    “Ford’s Theater, the night Lincoln was assassinated,” Bette replied in a matter-of-fact manner.
    “Now, really, Bette, you expect me to believe that?”
    Bette shrugged and said, “Not really, but by the end of the day you will.”
    Minerva Messinger rolled her eyes.
    Bette Kromer shrugged and went on. “Tell her about the pre-Columbian Native American midden and the ghost historians.”
    “Ghost historians, right,” Minerva said sarcastically.
    Mr. Greene smiled and intervened. “I understand your skepticism, Minerva,” he said. “Not much else I can say at this point. But I will try. Let me explain. You are a native Central Florida gal, aren’t you, Minerva?”
    “Yes, Mr. Greene.”
    “So you know we have our share of sinkholes?”
    “Of course.”
    “Well, this portable classroom rests atop a sinkhole. A dormant one. Actually, this whole area was a Native American midden, so long before all the psychics came to Cassadaga to conjure up spirits there were ghosts already here. One night I was working late in the portable and it was dark and I heard voices, Minerva. So I went out to investigate, and among the trees were ghosts—not your Casper the Friendly variety, but dead historians. Will and Ariel Durant. Henry Adams. Bruce Catton. Mary and Charles Beard. Shelby Foote. Frederick Jackson Turner. The Frontier Thesis, Minerva?”
    “Yes, Mr. Greene. His response to the 1890 census. The closing of the frontier.”
    “Yes, Minerva. I’m glad you know it. But the dead historians spoke to me about this place, and that the classroom sat atop a sinkhole, but the sinkhole itself led to the ‘timeline,’ and they told me about Nikola Tesla’s time machine, which was sitting unused in the basement of the Cassadaga Hotel, and an upcoming rummage sale, and one could navigate the timeline with Tesla’s time machine…”
    “The ‘timeline?’” Minerva interrupted. “Time machine?”
    Mr. Greene smiled. “You know I’m a fanatic about timelines, Minerva. I hand those out the first day of class. And it was amazing to discover that my classroom sat directly on top of the timeline, the