80. Fifth Avenue, no doubt, will be
there. I don't know whether the New York Public Library will be there or
not. We'll assume that it is, and that it has some sort of books,
printed, or in whatever fashion you care to imagine.

The young man library attendant is surprised at our curiously antiquated
aspect. We look as though we were dressed for some historical costume
ball. We talk old-fashioned English, like actors in an historical play
of the 1930 period.

But we get the book. The attendant assures us it is a good average story
of action and adventure. Nothing remarkable, but he read it himself, and
found it interesting.

We thank him and take the book. But we find that the language in which
it is written is too strange for comfortable reading. And it names so
many extraordinary things so casually! As though we knew all about them,
which we certainly do not!

So we take it to the kind-hearted librarian in the language division. He
modifies it to old-fashioned English of 1930, and he puts occasional
footnotes to help explain some of the things we might not understand.
Why he should bother to do this for us I don't know; but let us assume
that he does.

And now we take the book home--in the pneumatic tube, or aerial moving
sidewalk, or airship, or whatever it is we take to get home.

And now that we are home, let's read the book. It ought to be
interesting.

CHAPTER I

_Tells of the Grantline Moon Expedition and of the Mysterious
Martian Who Followed Us in the City Corridor_

One may write about oneself and still not be an egoist. Or so, at least,
they tell me. My narrative went broadcast with a fair success. It was
pantomimed and the public flashed me a reasonable approval. And so my
disc publishers have suggested that I record it in more permanent form.

I introduce myself, begging grace that I intrude upon your busy minutes,
with my only excuse that perhaps I may amuse you. For what the
commercial sellers of my pictured version were pleased to blare as my
handsome face, I ask your indulgence. My feminine audience of the
pantomimes was undoubtedly graciously pleased at my personality and
physical aspect. That I am "tall as a Viking of old"--and "handsome as a
young Norse God"--is very pretty talk in the selling of my product. But
I deplore its intrusion into the personality of this, my recorded
narrative. And so now, for preface, to all my audience I do give earnest
assurance that Gregg Haljan