with a firm
but not arrogant voice.

"Is this the city of York, New?" asked the man. There was a touch of
cold humor in his voice that made the manager look more closely at
him. He weighed perhaps two-twenty and stood a shade over six-two, but
it was the look in the blue eyes and the bearing of the man's body
that made the manager suddenly feel as though this man were someone
extraordinary. That, of course, meant "wrong."

Then the question that the man had asked in rebuttal to his own
penetrated the manager's mind, and he became puzzled. "Er ... I beg
your pardon?"

"I said, 'Is this York, New?'" the man repeated.

"This is New York, if that's what you mean," the manager said.

"Then I am Harry Morgan, if that's what you mean."

The manager, for want of anything better to do to cover his
confusion, glanced back at the card--without really looking at it.
Then he looked back up at the face of Harry Morgan. "Evidently you
have not turned in your Citizen's Identification Card for renewal, Mr.
Morgan," he said briskly. As long as he was on familiar ground, he
knew how to handle himself.

"Odd's Fish!" said Morgan with utter sadness, "How did you know?"

The manager's comfortable feeling of rightness had returned. "You
can't hope to fool a registration robot, Mr. Morgan," he said "When a
discrepancy is observed, the robot immediately notifies a person in
authority. Two months ago, Government Edict 7-3356-Hb abolished titles
of courtesy absolutely and finally. You Englishmen have clung to them
for far longer than one would think possible, but that has been
abolished." He flicked the card with a finger. "You have registered
here as 'Commodore Sir Harry Morgan'--obviously, that is the name and
anti-social title registered on your card. When you put the card into
the registration robot, the error was immediately noted and I was
notified. You should not be using an out-of-date card, and I will be
forced to notify the Citizen's Registration Bureau."

"Forced?" said Morgan in mild amazement. "Dear me! What a terribly
strong word."

The manager felt the hook bite, but he could no more resist the
impulse to continue than a cat could resist catnip. His brain did not
have the ability to overcome his instinct. And his instinct was wrong.
"You may consider yourself under arrest, Mr. Morgan."

"I thank you for that permission," Morgan said with a happy smile.
"But I think I shall not take advantage of it." He stood there wi