A tall, graying man with a noble profile hurried up and beamed: “Good show, Joe. I knew we could count on you to try for the high-point combo. You was always a real sport. You got the fish?” “Sure we got the fish.” Joe turned and said to one of the lovely ladies, “Elna, show him the fish.” She unwrapped a ten-pound swordfish and proudly held it up while Ross, Bernie, and Helena stared wildly. The profile took the fish and poked it. “Real enough, Joe. You done great. Now if the rocket flyers here are okay you’re okay. Then you got twenny points and the prize. “You’re a rocket flyer, ain’t you, Buster?” Ross realized he was being addressed. He croaked: “Men of Earth, we come from a far-distant star in search of——” The profile said, “Just a minute, Buster. _Just_ a minute. You ain’t from Earth?” “We come from a far-distant star in search of——” “Stick to the point, Buster. You ain’t a rocket flyer from Earth? None of you?” “No,” Ross said. He furtively pinched himself. It hurt. Therefore he must be awake. Or crazy. The profile was sorrowfully addressing a downcast Joe. “You should of asked them, Joe. You really should of. Now you don’t even get the three points for the swordfish, because you went an’ tried for the combo. It reely is a pity. Din’t you ask them at all?” Joe blustered, “He did say sump’m, but I figured a rocket flyer was a rocket flyer, and they come out of a rocket.” His lower lip was trembling. Both of the ladies of his party were crying openly. “We tried,” Joe said, and began to blubber. Ross moved away from him in horrified disgust. The profile shook its head, turned and announced: “Owing to a unfortunate mistake, the search group of Dr. Joseph Mulcahy, Sc.D., Ph.D., got disqualified for the combination. They on’y got three points. So that’s all the groups in an’ who got the highest?” “I got fifteen! I got fifteen!” screamed a gorgeous brunette in a transport of joy. “A manhole cover from the museum an’ a las’ month _Lipreaders Digest_ an’ a steering wheel from a police car! I got fifteen!” The others clustered about her, chattering. Ross said to the profile mechanically: “Man of Earth, we come from a far-distant star in search of——” “Sure, Buster,” said the profile. “Sure. Too bad. But you should of told Joe. You don’t have to go. You an’ your friends have a drink. Mix. Have fun. I gotta go give the prize now.” He hurried off. A passing blonde, stacked, said to Ross: “Hel-looo, baldy. Wanna see my operation?” He began to shake his head and felt Helena’s fingers close like steel on his arm. The blonde sniffed and passed on. “I’ll operate her,” Helena said, and then: “Ross, what’s _wrong_ with everybody? They act so young, even the old people!”