Prelude to Space by Arthur C. Clarke

him
     with some amusement from the next chair. To Dirk’s surprise, he was not in evening
     dress and did not seem to be worried by the fact.
    “I saw your fraternity badge,” said the other by way of introduction. “I’m Sigma Xi
     myself. Only got back from California this evening—too late for the dinner.”
    So that explained the dress, thought Dirk, feeling rather pleased with himself at
     so brilliant a piece of deduction. He shook hands, glad to meet a fellow Californian—though
     he couldn’t catch the name. It seemed to be something like Mason, but it didn’t really
     matter.
    For some time they discussed American affairs and speculated on the Democrats’ chances
     of returning to power. Dirk contended that the Liberals would once again hold the
     balance, and made some brilliant comments on the advantages and disadvantages of the
     three-party system. Strangely enough, his companion seemed unimpressed by his wit,
     and brought the conversation back to Interplanetary.
    “You haven’t been here very long, have you?” he queried. “How are you getting on?”
    Dirk told him, at length. He explained his job, and enlarged lavishly upon its scope
     and importance. When he had finished his work, all subsequent eras and all possible
     planets would realize exactly what the conquest of space had meant to the age which
     had achieved it.
    His friend seemed very interested, though there was a trace of amusement in his voice
     about which Dirk might have to reprimand him, gently but firmly.
    “How have you got on in your contacts with the technical side?” he asked.
    “To tell the truth,” said Dirk sadly, “I’ve been intending to do something about this
     for the last week. But I’m rather scared of scientists, you know. Besides, there’s
     Matthews. He’s been very helpful, but he has his own ideas of what I should do and
     I’m anxious not to hurt his feelings.”
    That was a deplorably weak sort of statement, but there was a lot of truth in it.
     Matthews had organized everything a little too completely.
    Thinking of Alfred brought back memories, and Dirk was filled with a sudden grave
     suspicion. He looked carefully at his companion, determined not to be caught again.
    The fine profile and the wide, intelligent brow were reassuring, but Dirk was now
     too old a hand at the game to be deceived. Alfred, he thought, would be proud of the
     way he was evading definite answers to his companion’s queries. It was rather a pity,
     of course, since the other was a fellow American and had come a long way in search
     of a “scoop”; still, his first loyalty now was with his hosts.
    The other must have realized that he was getting nowhere, for presently he rose to
     his feet and gave Dirk a quizzical smile.
    “I think,” he said, as he took his leave, “that I may be able to put you in touch
     with the right people on the technical side. Ring me tomorrow at Extension 3—don’t
     forget—3.”
    Then he was gone, leaving Dirk in a highly confused state of mind. His fears, it seemed,
     had been groundless: the fellow belonged to Interplanetary after all. Oh well, it
     couldn’t be helped.
    His next clear recollection was saying good-night to Matthews in the foyer. Alfred
     still seemed annoyingly bright and energetic, and very pleased with the success of
     the party—though it seemed that he had suffered from qualms from time to time.
    “During that horn-pipe,” he said, “I was quite certain that the floor was going to
     give way. Do you realize that would have delayed the conquest of space by at least
     half a century?”
    Dirk did not feel particularly interested in such metaphysical speculations, but as
     he bade a sleepy good-night he suddenly remembered his unknown Californian.
    “By the way,” he said, “I got talking with another American—thought he was a journalist
     at first. He’d just arrived in town—you must have seen him—he wasn’t wearing evening
     dress. Told me to ring