"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."

"Looks funny to me. Why does he wear a beard? No one else wears a
beard. Must be something the matter with him."

"Maybe he likes to wear a beard. I had an uncle who--"

"Wait." Mrs. Hacket stiffened. "Didn't that--what was his name? The
Red--that old one. Didn't he have a beard? Marx. He had a beard."

Ed laughed. "This ain't Karl Marx. I saw a photograph of him once."

Mrs. Hacket was staring at him. "You did?"

"Sure." He flushed a little. "What's the matter with that?"

"I'd sure like to