Marilyn was still looking at the currency of the future.
"We will be," she said, "if we keep selling steak for the price of soy-bean hamburger. By the way, Ted, I wonder who that was at the window?"
The answer came to me then. I put the bills into my pocket and kissed her.
"We will not have to eat soy-bean hamburger, o-doll. And I will take you to Mars for your second honeymoon—as soon as they start passenger service. I am going out to make a down payment on the tickets right now."
Uncle Johnson took the glass from his eye. He looked very tense, like a fisherman with a prize catch on a very thin line.
"It's good," he said, and his voice trembled a little. "I—suppose your time machine worked?"
"Surprised, are you, Uncle?"
"Yes, yes. But I see your situation, Ted. You, of course, can't afford to hold these for thirty years. Now—ah—I can. And I'll be glad to help you out by taking them off your hands. Naturally I have to hold them a long time, so—let's say twenty dollars a thousand?"
"Let's not say that." I took the bill from his hand. "I figure fifty is a fair price. There'll be lots more, Uncle. And, as you say, I am always broke and cannot afford to put them away for my old age. But running the time machine is expensive and I can't afford to take less than fifty."