him a
bent look when one shoulder stayed back. "Maybe it wasn't a hundred
years ago," he said to his fingernails. "Anyway, they don't have names
now."

"This must be the old Outer Hotel," Marcus decided. "We'll stay here."

The clerk's aplomb was not as foolproof as he imagined. It slipped a
trifle. "You want to stay here? I mean _really_?"

"Why not?" growled Marcus. "You have room, don't you? It seems like a
decent place. I don't have any other recommendations."

"Certainly it's decent and we have room. I thought you might be more
comfortable elsewhere. I can recommend an exclusive men's hotel to you."

"We are plain people and don't want anything exclusive," said Marcus.
"Register us, please."

"I don't do menial tasks," said the clerk with an offended laugh. "I'm
here for the sole purpose of imparting class to the hotel. Take your
registry problems to the desk robot."

Wilbur looked curiously at the pudgy clerk as he walked away, smiling
coyly at the passersby. "Pa, how can a man like him make this place seem
classy?"

"Son, I don't know," said Marcus heavily. "Earth has changed since your
grandfather described it to me. I don't propose to find out what's the
matter with it. We'll just take care of our business and go home."

* * * * *

They signed at the desk, giving their baggage claim checks to the robot,
who assured them that everything would be zipped straight to their room
from the spaceport.

In spite of Wilbur's protests that he wasn't tired, that he was just
getting used to walking again after being cramped in the ship, they went
to their rooms to freshen up. Thus they missed the noontime exodus of
workers from the buildings around them.

Marcus had food sent up, but didn't eat much, though initially he had
been hungry. The lot 219 steaks were excellent in appearance, nicely
seared and thick. Inside, they were gray and watery, with an offensive
taste, obviously tank-grown. After a few bites, Marcus abandoned the
meat and ate vegetables. These, though ill-flavored and artificially
colored, he could eat without suspicion.

Wilbur consumed everything before him, ending by looking hungrily at the
steak on his father's plate. Marcus hastily shoved the trays in the
disposer slot. If he had time before he left Earth, he meant to find out
what a "lot 219" steak was. He hoped it wasn't what he thought.

When they were ready, they dropped to the ground floor. The clerk