"Oh, well, more important things to think of now, anyway--or _are_ there more important things? Well, get me some clothes and call the head man around here, and I'll look you up later, Miss...." "Lorraine, _Dr._ Lorraine. I'll get you some pajamas--here they are--and you won't see the Supervisor unless you show some pretty unusual symptoms. He's a busy man and I'm a married woman." H.D. sputtered. "Now really, Mr. Haworth, I'm not just being mean. You have to stay here under observation for three days as a final check before you're sent to--well, and the supervisor doesn't speak English anyway. I'm the only one here at the hospital that does, which is why I'm here. Now there'll be some nice lunch for you in a few minutes, so relax like a good boy and--" H.D. exploded. "Young woman," he shouted, "_Doctor_ young woman, as you value your job, I demand to see the person in charge!" He practically foamed. "Boy indeed! I am Harley D. Haworth and I am ninety-four years old--and then some," he added thoughtfully. "Three hundred and twenty years in the vault and two years we've been working on you," Dr. Lorraine said helpfully. "Eh? Yes. Well, get me--" "No," she said very firmly. "You've had enough excitement for the first time in so long. When you've had a nice lunch and a nice nap I'll talk to you again, although you won't really find out very much until you go to--" A door had opened and shut, and a huge male orderly came in pushing a metal cabinet. The orderly and Dr. Lorraine exchanged a few words that H.D. could identify with no language, although the sounds were easy and musical--a little like Hawaiian, perhaps. "What's that?" H.D. asked suspiciously. "Where are we?" "Why, we're in Chicago. Oh, the language--Hominine, we call it. It was adopted only about fifty years after you died, at the time of the Union, when the U.S. sort of took over the world and a universal language became necessary." The orderly had gone out, and she set a dish before H.D. on a sliding bed-tray. "Here, eat your lunch while it's hot." H.D. let out a yelp. "Lunch! A plate of soup! Woman, I'm hungry! Haven't had a bite for three hundred twenty-two years!" "That's just why you must go easy for a bit. Here's your spoon. Now, doesn't it smell good?" It did, and H.D. grumblingly took some. It tasted good, too--beefy--and he went at it. Between slurps he tried to get a little more information. "You say the U.S. conquered the world fifty years after I died?" "Oh, no! Just absorbed it, you might say. You had something to do with that in a way." "Eh? How's that?" "Well, your idea of putting yourself on ice to wait for better times gradually got around and, after awhile, it got pretty common in the States. The insurance companies did most of it. But they couldn't do it in Europe, being, _you_ know, bureaucratic and half decayed and all, and so poor from all the wars. Couldn't afford it. Guess I'm not much of a historian." Snort from H.D.