One of his arms was caught for just a moment under the slight weight of his body. There was a short, snapping sound, but Oliver Symmes took no notice. His face remained impassive. Even pain had lost its meaning. "It's a pity we couldn't have been outside with the rest of them, celebrating," she said, as she arranged the covers around him, not noticing the arm herself. This was the part of her job she enjoyed most--tucking the nice little man into bed. He did look sweet there, under the covers, didn't he? "Just imagine, Mr. Symmes, another year's gone by, and what have we accomplished?" Her prattle seeped in and he became aware of it and what she was saying. New Year? "What--what year--is this?" He spoke with great difficulty, from the long disuse of vocal cords. It was hardly more than a whisper, but she heard and was startled. "Why, Mr. Symmes, it's been so long since you've talked." She paused, but realized that she had not answered his question. "It's '73, of course. Last year was '72, so tonight's the start of '73." '73? Had it been fifty years since he came here? Had it been just that long? "What--" She leaned closer to him as he struggled for the word. "What--century?" Her astonishment was gone. He was teasing her, like the woman on the next level. These old ones were great for that! "Now, Mr. Symmes, everybody knows what century it is." She smiled at him glowingly, thinking she had caught him at a prank. It was nice, she thought, to have gotten through to him tonight, on the eve of the new year. That meant that she was living up to her motto the way she ought to be. She'd have to tell the supervisor about it. Oliver Symmes turned to face the ceiling, his mind full of dusty whispers. What century was it? She hadn't answered. It might have been a hundred and fifty years ago he came here, instead of just fifty. Or possibly two hundred and fifty, or ... "Now, you be good, and sleep tight, and I'll see you in the morning." Her hand passed over a glowing stud and the room light dimmed to a quiet glow. Lying there in the bed, he did look like a teddy bear, a dear little teddy bear. She was so happy. "Good night, Mr. Symmes." She closed the door. * * * * * Outside, bells were ringing. "Happy New Year." The ceiling stared back at him. The mad sound of people crazed for the moment, shouting, echoed the bells. "Happy New Year!" He turned his head to one side. "Happy New Year!" And again ... and again ... and again. --JAMES McCONNELL Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from _Galaxy Science Fiction_ January 1953. Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed. Minor spelling and typographical errors have been corrected without note.