Garry shook his head. "Too late. We'd never make it to Washington by six." The flyer was gaining speed and altitude. "What's all this about Washington? What happens there?" Garry hesitated. "You have to take a trip, Mr. Haworth." H.D. leaned forward, unable to hear the last words. With their mounting speed the whine of violated air was becoming a scream. Garry reached back over Junior's shoulder and hit a toggle at the right end of the instrument board. It was like shutting off a radio. He repeated, "You have to take a trip, Mr. Haworth." "Trip. By heaven, you're as mysterious as that woman. Why don't you speak up? Well, never mind that." His eyes narrowed. "To whom does this airship belong?" Garry sighed. "To you, Mr. Haworth." "Tell that oaf to turn around and go back." Garry sighed again and shook his head. "He won't, Mr. Haworth." The flyer was arching through a dark swirling cumulus layer, still gaining speed. H.D.'s jaw set hard. He gritted his words. "I don't know just what this is," he said slowly, "but I know this. You won't get away with it. Nobody fools with me. I'll break you and that great goon of a great-great-grandson. Money still counts here--that woman said so." "Yes." "Yes. I suppose you know to whom the Haworth Trust reverts now?" "To you, Mr. Haworth." "Yes. And that means I'm one of the richest men in the world again." "No, sir." H.D.'s cold tone deepened. "What do you mean, no?" "Well, sir, times have changed, you might say." "Inflation!" H.D. exploded. "No, sir, none to speak of. You can still get a loaf of bread for a quarter. It's just that the growth curve is pretty steep, and it gets steeper all the time. Atomic energy, you know, and no wars for a long time, and now no natural death. "You can get twelve percent on your money in a savings bank. It's really an expanding economy. Why, Chicago alone is worth more in dollars and cents than all the nations of earth in our time." H.D. reflected this. "Well, how much is the Trust worth?" * * * * * Garry exchanged a few words with Junior. "About thirty million, he says." "_What!_" "Well," Garry hastened, "I know it isn't much for twenty million to grow to after all this time, but there have been expenses! What we had to spend for protection in the old days, when the mobs wanted to dynamite the vault! "The sums that were spent on research to revive you! And then the Administrator, Junior here, has to live up to the Haworth name and that's expensive. He draws over a million a year." "Why, that thieving, white-whiskered pip-squeak, I'll sue him within an inch of his life! I'll--" "Now, now, Mr. Haworth, you're still a wealthy man." H.D. glared. "Wealthy. Yes. And famous. The oldest Sleeper. Can't understand why the newsmen haven't been after me. In my time--" "You're not news, sir. Look, Mr. Haworth, I have some rather unpleasant things to tell you. I've been shirking it but I might as well tell you now."