Late in the afternoon of the third of those maddening days that loathsome woman--the part of her that wasn't phonograph must have been clam--brought him some clothes. And the word that she spoke as she quietly left was music--Goodby. He vaguely remarked the clothes as he pulled them on--socks, thin-soled shoes, a loosely draped one-piece garment of a closely woven sky-blue material resembling silk but duller--a light cape of darker blue. Just as he was appraising the quite satisfactory effect in the wall mirror a sound turned him toward the door. They stood a little awkwardly in the doorway, pulling rather solemn faces. The black-haired man, who would have been big by ordinary standards, was mopping his red face in a nervous gesture and the seven-foot giant who dwarfed him was stroking his platinum-blond beard. H.D. stared at the giant gape-mouthed. _He looks exactly like God, if God were in the shape of a man_, he thought. Teeth flashed in a smile through the silvery brush and God said, haltingly, "Hello, Grampaw." H.D. started violently. The black-haired man came forward with a jovial, if forced, laugh and a deprecating wave of the hand. "You _are_ his grandfather, you know, Mr. Haworth. Fourteen times removed, that is. He's the Administrator now. Don't you know me? Guess the bird looks different with all this plumage, eh?" There was, at that, something familiar about this coarse, good-natured fellow, something.... "Jones!" It was the delighted cry of a homesick sailor sighting the old church steeple. "Garibaldi Jones! It's good to see you, man! When did they dig you up?" "About twenty years ago." Garry grinned. For a moment H.D. thought he discerned in his grin a trace of that expression he had so come to hate in the last three days, that tinge of something like embarrassment. Nonsense! He rushed on, "Now I'll find out about this new-fangled world and pretty soon we'll set 'er by the ears. Once I get my...." The giant said something to Jones, who nodded uncomfortably. H.D. frowned. "What's that? Why don't you speak English, Mr.--uh--Mr. Haworth? I guess you're a Haworth?" The giant smiled politely. "He don't know any English, Mr. Haworth, except those words I taught him. Guess you might as well call him Junior--same name as yours. He says we better get going. Have to be in Washington by six. Your flyer's waiting." _Your flyer!_ This was more like it. Well, after all, he was H.D. Haworth, and they named demigods after him! In the exuberance of the thought he forgot to ask why they had to go to Washington. He swirled his cape about him and strode out. The demigod stepped aside for him. The corridor was a surprise. It was not merely long--it was shockingly long. It must have been _miles_ long. And it was broad. A truck could have easily passed and it was lined with doors and little signs in a wavy lettering. No one seemed to be about.