It was a woman. Suddenly she saw him, and gasped. Then she screamed--piercingly. The sound echoed and re-echoed between the high walls of the buildings. Windows and doors banged. Footsteps pounded on the pavement. Soon there were many people around him. Some of them were holding the woman. She hung limply in their arms. A man strode into the group, swinging a club, and speaking authoritatively: "Here! What's the trouble? Move on there!" He glanced at the woman. "Fainted? Take her to a drug store, somebody. She'll be all right.... What's this?" He grasped the Martian by the arm, and raised him to the light.... "Well, I'm damned!" Followed by the curious crowd, he half carried, half dragged his captive along the street, around a corner, and through a lighted doorway. He slammed the door shut. "Found a freak, Yer Honor.... Scared a woman half to death! It musta got outa the 'Garden'; I found it on Forty-ninth Street...." The man seated behind the high desk nodded, and picked up a telephone. Into this he spoke in a low voice, waited, and then spoke again. Finally he laid it down, and said, "He is coming over. Hold on to it." He resumed his writing. The Martian watched the man writing on the high desk. He thought that this man must be some person of authority--some ruler of the people, perhaps. After long and painful uncertainty, he nerved himself to speak: "Please help me...." The man behind the desk looked up and smiled. "Yes. That is what we are here for.... Only be patient," he said, and returned to his writing. The Martian remained quiet. He would not dare disturb the man again, but he kept watching him.... "Good morning, Your Honor!" At the sound of the voice, he gave a start of surprise and fear. Blumberg walked towards him, smiling. He struggled, and averted his eyes. But his captor held him tightly. Blumberg patted him on the head with his large, soft hand. He trembled. "One of yours?" said the man behind the high desk. "What is the trouble with him? He seems distressed." Blumberg smiled at the other, and tapped his own head three times with his fingertip. The other raised his eyebrows. "Tell the Judge about yourself," said Blumberg softly. "He is a great man, and he can help you." The Martian was surprised that Blumberg would allow him to speak. He made a desperate effort: "I am a native of Mars. Please, I must return home. Please help me.... I--" "See!" said Blumberg. He was laughing. The Judge nodded. "Can you handle him?" he asked. "Sure! They get along better with me than in--other places. I know how to treat 'em; and they make a good living." "All right," said the Judge. "Take him along. But don't let me catch him running around the streets again, or you might rate a fine." "Don't worry! We're going on the road in a couple of days now. You won't see him again.... Well, good morning to you!" "Good morning!" said the Judge.