"My father stayed at the Outer Hotel fifty years ago, before he left to discover a new planet. It was at this address."
The clerk, wary of his shoulder pads, shrugged sideways. It gave 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."