Peter thanked Mr. Crabley as best he could and then he strolled back to his office feeling a rosy glow. * * * * * During the following two weeks, Peter Merton's personal fortune grew by leaps and bounds. Most of the cash he kept in a trunk in his apartment; he knew that people would start to ask questions if he put too much of it in the bank at once. But he did put considerable sums in the bank, nonetheless. The savings account was practically forced on him by Irene Simmons. She insisted that, even if he did have money in his trunk, it was conceivable that someone might steal it. Meanwhile, he bought a new Cadillac, several tailor-made suits at two hundred and fifty per, a fur coat for Irene, and had his apartment completely redecorated, with built-in bar complete. He became quite friendly with Irene Simmons, but he was convinced that the girl liked him simply because he had plenty of money. That didn't bother him too much; she was a beautiful girl, and Peter Merton had always had an eye for beauty. It was in the middle of the third week that things began to change. The first thing that happened was a note from Peter's futurian correspondent, Rolath Guelph. _Dear Mr. Merton_, it read. _You have been most co-operative in this endeavor, and we appreciate it greatly. Your books have been very welcome, and have strengthened our knowledge of your times and language tremendously._ _Now, however, we would like a few artifacts of your civilization. Would you please send us samples of your clothing, both men's and women's styles? We would also appreciate various other things, such as...._ And here there followed another long list, similar to the one he had received before, except that it called for various manufactured objects. The letter was signed, as usual, _Very truly yours, Rolath Guelph_. "Well, what do you think of that?" Peter said, after reading it. Irene read it and said: "I have a dress I can send him, and you can send him one of your suits." Peter nodded. "We'll have to buy some of these other things, though." An hour later, Peter stuffed a suit into the wall safe and closed the door. When he opened it, there was a small bundle of thin, strong material which, when unfolded, proved to be a suit--of sorts. It certainly looked different. Irene giggled when he held it out. "You couldn't wear that on the streets. It looks like something out of Flash Gordon or Buck Rogers." Peter grinned and put in Irene's dress. What he got back was a dress, but this time Irene didn't giggle when it was unfolded. "Why, that's perfectly _gorgeous_," she said, in awe. "I wonder if it'll fit?" "Here," said Peter, handing it to her. "Go find out. You can lead the fashion field--by a century to be exact." Irene took the dress and headed for the ladies' powder room. When she came back, it was all Peter could do to keep his eyes from popping out.