rians who heard him.
He was walking quickly toward me with a very worried expression on his
face. I stepped up my own pace as unobtrusively as possible, trying to
keep a lot of people between us, meanwhile praying that they'd think I
was just somebody who was late for an appointment. The salesman didn't
break into a run or yell for the cops, but I couldn't be sure he
wouldn't.

As soon as I came to a corner, I turned it and ran like hell. There
was a sort of alley down the block. I jumped into it, found a basement
door and stayed inside, pressed against the wall, quivering with
tension and sucking air like a swimmer who'd stayed underwater too
long.

Even after I got my wind back, I wasn't anxious to go out. The place
could have been cordoned off, with the police, the army and the navy
all cooperating to nab me.

What made me think so? Not a thing except remembering how puzzled our
ancient Egyptian would have been if he got arrested in the subway for
something everybody did casually and without punishment in his own
time--spitting! I could have done something just as innocent, as far
as you and I are concerned, that this era would consider a misdemeanor
or a major crime. And in what age was ignorance of the law ever an
excuse?

Instead of going back out, I prowled carefully into the building. It
was strangely silent and deserted. I couldn't understand why until I
came to a lavatory. There were little commodes and wash basins that
came up to barely above my knees. The place was a school. Naturally it
was deserted--the kids were through for the day.

I could feel the tension dissolve in me like a ramrod of ice melting,
no longer keeping my back and neck stiff and taut. There probably
wasn't a better place in the city for me to hide.

_A primary school!_

The salesman had said to me, "Everybody learns about the Dynapack in
primary education."

* * * * *

Going through the school was eerie, like visiting a familiar childhood
scene that had been distorted by time into something almost totally
unrecognizable.

There were no blackboards, teacher's big desk, children's little
desks, inkwells, pointers, globes or books. Yet it was a school. The
small fixtures in the lavatory downstairs had told me that, and so did
the miniature chairs drawn neatly under the low, vividly painted
tables in the various schoolrooms. A large comfortable chair was
evidently where the teacher sat when not w