When the sandwiches arrived, they were ordinary enough. He and Ann ate in silence. A feeling of foreboding hung over them. When they finished, the clerk gave him a check marked 1/20. Jeff looked at it thoughtfully, shrugged and handed it to the cashier with two dollar bills. The man at the desk glanced at them and laughed. "Stage money, eh?" "No, that's good money," Jeff assured him with a rather hollow smile. "They're just new bills, that's all." The cashier picked one up and looked at it curiously. "I'm afraid it's no good here," he said, and pushed it back. The bottom dropped out of Jeff's stomach. "What kind of money do you want? This is all I have." The cashier's smile faded. He caught the eye of a man in uniform on one of the stools. The uniform was dark green, but the man acted like a policeman. He loomed up beside Jeff. "What's the rasper?" he demanded. Other customers, waiting to pay their checks, eyed Jeff curiously. "I guess I'm in trouble," Jeff told him. "I'm a stranger here and I got something to eat under the impression that my money was legal tender. Do you know where I can exchange it?" * * * * * The officer picked up the dollar bill and fingered it with evident interest. He turned it over and studied the printing. "United States of America," he read aloud. "What are those?" "It's the name of the country I come from," Jeff said carefully. "I--uh--got on the wrong train, apparently, and must have come further than I thought. What's the name of this place?" "This is Costa, West Goodland, in the Continental Federation. Say, you must come from an umpty remote part of the world if you don't know about this country." His eyes narrowed. "Where'd you learn to speak Federal, if you come from so far?" Jeff said helplessly, "I can't explain, if you don't know about the United States. Listen, can you take me to a bank, or some place where they know about foreign exchange?" The policeman scowled. "How'd you get into this country, anyway? You got immigrate clearance?" An angry muttering started among the bystanders. The policeman made up his mind. "You come with me." At the police station, Jeff put his elbows dejectedly on the high counter while the policeman talked to an officer in charge. Some men whom Jeff took for reporters got up from a table and eased over to listen. "I don't know whether to charge them with fakemake, bumsy, peekage or lunate," the policeman said as he finished. His superior gave Jeff a long puzzled stare. Jeff sighed. "I know it sounds impossible, but a man brought me in something he claimed was a time traveler. You speak the same language I do--more or less--but everything else is kind of unfamiliar. I belong in the United States, a country in North America. I can't believe I'm so far in the future that the United States has been forgotten." There ensued a long, confused, inconclusive interrogation.