"Garibaldi Jones! It's good to see you, man! When did they dig you up?"
"About twenty years ago." Garry grinned.
For a moment H.D. thought he discerned in his grin a trace of that expression he had so come to hate in the last three days, that tinge of something like embarrassment. Nonsense!
He rushed on, "Now I'll find out about this new-fangled world and pretty soon we'll set 'er by the ears. Once I get my...."
The giant said something to Jones, who nodded uncomfortably. H.D. frowned.
"What's that? Why don't you speak English, Mr.—uh—Mr. Haworth? I guess you're a Haworth?" The giant smiled politely.
"He don't know any English, Mr. Haworth, except those words I taught him. Guess you might as well call him Junior—same name as yours. He says we better get going. Have to be in Washington by six. Your flyer's waiting."
Your flyer! This was more like it. Well, after all, he was H.D. Haworth, and they named demigods after him! In the exuberance of the thought he forgot to ask why they had to go to Washington. He swirled his cape about him and strode out. The demigod stepped aside for him.
The corridor was a surprise. It was not merely long—it was shockingly long. It must have been miles long. And it was broad. A truck could have easily passed and it was lined with doors and little signs in a wavy lettering. No one seemed to be about.
They hurried along, H.D. gawking to all sides, almost trotting as Junior set the pace. At the great double door of an elevator shaft Junior touched the signal button.