She paused, disconcerted "I beg your pardon?" "Why shouldn't everything be all right? Lateral-American, the skyway to the stars, right?" She smiled "Absolutely correct." "_And_ Milwaukee," Doak added. "Do you only handle the earth runs?" "Until next year," she said. "I'm new." "I'm old," Doak said. "Is there anything to drink on board?" "Water, Mr. Parker." "I'm not _that_ old," he said. She glanced at her watch. "We'll be in Milwaukee in six minutes. And that's the beer town." But he had no time for a glass of beer. The limousine took him to the elevated station and the last car for Dubbinville was leaving in three minutes. It was a nine-minute trip. He'd picked up an hour, coming west, and used but thirty-three minutes. It was still only seven o'clock when the huge elevated car hissed to a stop in front of the Dubbinville station. There was a smell to the place, a smell of sun-warmed grass and fruit blossoms, of lilacs and quiet rains. Doak stood on the platform, surveying the winding main street leading up into the gentle hills. People on porches and teenagers in front of the drugstore. A reddish-brown setter padded past on some secret business of his own. There was no whiz, no whir, no clank, no squeal, no grind. This was Dubbinville, U.S.A. The station agent was picking up a pair of film boxes, as Doak walked over. He smiled at Doak. "Beautiful evening, isn't it?" "It certainly is. Is there--a place to stay in town, a hotel?" The station agent shook his head. "No hotel. But you could stay at Mrs. Klein's. She takes in boarders." He pointed with a bony forefinger. "That grey house with the blue shutters, right on the curve there." "Thank you," Doak said. "What's the population here?" "Around eight hundred, last census, though we had a couple families move in since then. Hasn't changed much the last hundred years." "Retired farmers, mostly?" Doak asked. "Mmmm, I guess. Just--people." People.... Which meant nothing and everything. Doak had turned away before he remembered. Then he turned back. "Oh, yes, and Senator Arnold? Where does he live?" "Big house, over the hill," the agent said. "Only big house around here--you can't miss it. Got a high stone fence all around it and two vicious dogs. God knows what he's scared of." This was a different man from the one who had remarked on the beauty of the evening. "Thanks," Doak said. "Thanks again." Political resentment--or some local feud? Doak went along the platform to the single step that led to the street. There was a breeze from the east, cooling the warm air. He turned in at the drug store and could scarcely believe his eyes. Bent wire chairs and marble-topped tables with bent wire legs. No toasters, video sets, geiger counters, ray guns or portable garbage detergents. But dim and cool and with a high marble fountain. "A lime-ade," Doak said, "with a sprig of mint."