The first thing I perceived was a great stretch of blue sky without horizon. At the same time I was aware of a pleasant floating motion. My first thought was that I was on the deck of a ship, riding on a lazy sea. But a second glance showed neither masts nor funnels to mar the blue unity above me. I soon recognized that I was in an open air hospital, with rows of white cots and moving white-clad nurses. Probably, I was on top of a modern skyscraper, two or three thousand feet from the ground. A score of women in loose Grecian robes were standing around, gazing at me with the utmost curiosity. Two things struck me at once. They were all of a uniform stature, at least seven feet in height, slender, broad-shouldered, and all had the blue eyes and pale yellow hair of the true Scandinavian blonde. Furthermore as far as I could judge, they appeared all to be of an age between twenty-five and thirty. One who evidently was of superior rank approached and put me through the following interrogatory: “Have you any sensation of dizziness?” “Not the slightest.” “You can move your arms freely?” “Perfectly.” “Do you feel able to answer a few questions?” “Gladly. Only tell me where I am.” “You are in the Aerodrome Hospital above New York.” “Above? How far above?” “About three miles.” “How long have I been here?” “A month. We have purposely extended the defrigeration process in your case to eliminate all danger of sudden shock.” “What month is this, then?” “Athena, the thirteenth month of the year.” “And the date?” “2181.” Strange to say I felt no giddiness. From my first awakening, I had been prepared to find Dr. Sachaloff’s experiment successful, though I confess the extent of my journey through time was unexpected. “Now if it does not tire you too much--” “Not at all. I feel astonishingly well.” “What year then were you committed to the Frigidrome?” “1929.” There was an outburst of exclamations at this. I felt myself the cynosure of all eyes. “You are certain of the date?” “Absolutely. November 15th, 1929.” “But the Frigidrome was not in general use until the year 2075.” “Nevertheless I repeat the date was November 15, 1929, tenth year of prohibition, and two weeks after the collapse of the stock market in the reign of Mr. Hoover.” I heard a murmur in which I distinctly caught the words, “prohibition,” “stock market,” “Hoover,” pronounced in various degrees of incomprehension. “You speak of things that are strange to us. For the moment we’ll postpone our inquiry until you have had time to thoroughly recover. But first, what is your name?” “My family name? Bogardus. John Bogardus.” “Family name? What is that?” “Why the name of the father and mother--the name of the children. Family name--name of the family.” I looked around at their puzzled expressions and a light dawned on me. “What--doesn’t the family exist? Has marriage been abolished?”