"Thanks." Conger went gratefully through the open door, into the living-room. It was warm and close from the heat of the little kerosene heater in the corner. A woman, large and shapeless in her flowered dress, came from the kitchen. She and the man studied him critically. "It's a good room," the woman said. "I'm Mrs. Appleton. It's got heat. You need that this time of year." "Yes." He nodded, looking around. "You want to eat with us?" "What?" "You want to eat with us?" The man's brows knitted. "You're not a foreigner, are you, mister?" "No." He smiled. "I was born in this country. Quite far west, though." "California?" "No." He hesitated. "In Oregon." "What's it like up there?" Mrs. Appleton asked. "I hear there's a lot of trees and green. It's so barren here. I come from Chicago, myself." "That's the Middle West," the man said to her. "You ain't no foreigner." "Oregon isn't foreign, either," Conger said. "It's part of the United States." The man nodded absently. He was staring at Conger's clothing. "That's a funny suit you got on, mister," he said. "Where'd you get that?" Conger was lost. He shifted uneasily. "It's a good suit," he said. "Maybe I better go some other place, if you don't want me here." They both raised their hands protestingly. The woman smiled at him. "We just have to look out for those Reds. You know, the government is always warning us about them." "The Reds?" He was puzzled. "The government says they're all around. We're supposed to report anything strange or unusual, anybody doesn't act normal." "Like me?" They looked embarrassed. "Well, you don't look like a Red to me," the man said. "But we have to be careful. The _Tribune_ says--" Conger half listened. It was going to be easier than he had thought. Clearly, he would know as soon as the Founder appeared. These people, so suspicious of anything different, would be buzzing and gossiping and spreading the story. All he had to do was lie low and listen, down at the general store, perhaps. Or even here, in Mrs. Appleton's boarding house. "Can I see the room?" he said. "Certainly." Mrs. Appleton went to the stairs. "I'll be glad to show it to you." They went upstairs. It was colder upstairs, but not nearly as cold as outside. Nor as cold as nights on the Martian deserts. For that he was grateful. * * * * * He was walking slowly around the store, looking at the cans of vegetables, the frozen packages of fish and meats shining and clean in the open refrigerator counters. Ed Davies came toward him. "Can I help you?" he said. The man was a little oddly dressed, and with a beard! Ed couldn't help smiling. "Nothing," the man said in a funny voice. "Just looking." "Sure," Ed said. He walked back behind the counter. Mrs. Hacket was wheeling her cart up. "Who's he?" she whispered, her sharp face turned, her nose moving, as if it were sniffing. "I never seen him before." "I don't know."