d you walk in here about three hours ago.
That's a long time to wait."

"That's what I thought, sir. I can't understand what happened."

"Well, you can't hang around here. I'll tell you what I'll do, though.
I'll turn you over to the matron in our Lost and Found room, and she'll
look out for you. Follow me."

* * * * *

In a daze, Plato followed. But as his feet were set into motion, so was
his brain. By now, of course, the search for him must be well on. They
must have traced him to the station, and perhaps, despite his clever
trick with the ticket, they had found the flight he had taken. For all
he knew, they might be waiting for him in the Lost and Found room, ready
to seize him the moment he showed his face there.

He hadn't gone so far to be recaptured so easily. As they passed an exit
door, Plato darted out. He heard the waiter's surprised shout, but he
didn't wait to reply. In a second, he had lost himself in the crowd.

He knew now that if he was going to get aboard an interstellar vessel,
he would have to do so soon. What would Comets Carter have done in
Plato's place--if Comets had been in one of his brighter moods? And then
he had it. He saw a messenger coming down the street, gleaming in his
uniform, and, somewhat nervously, approached him.

"May I speak to you?" asked Plato, with school-taught politeness.

"What about, bud? I'm busy."

"Well, I've been wanting to get Captain Halverson's autograph. He's on
the _Space Symphony_--"

"So what?"

"Well, the thing is, they won't let me past the gate. So I thought that
if I wore a messenger's uniform--"

The other boy glared at him. "Are you off your Norbert? I wouldn't let
you wear this uniform for a zillion credits."

Plato swallowed nervously, and said in desperation, "I don't have a
zillion credits, but I've got eight, and I'll give them to you if you
let me wear it. Just half an hour, that's all it'll take. It's the last
chance I'll have to ask him. He's bound for Rigel, and he won't be back
for five years, and you see--"

His voice tapered to a thin, tearful squeak as the messenger looked at
him.

"You're offering me eight space-lousy credits?"

"It's all I have. We'll just change clothes for a few minutes, and
that'll be all. Please, I've got to see him. I know that if I do, he'll
give me his autograph."

"Okay," said the messenger unexpectedly. "But hurry back. I'll be at the
gate waiting for you."