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Biff was seated next to the window. His seat companion arose, removed his hat, and placed it on the rack above. His hair was cropped short, as Biff’s was. It was a shade darker, perhaps, but just a shade. Biff’s habit of going hatless could have made the difference.

On close examination of the boys’ faces, there was one noticeable difference. Biff’s eyes were bluish-gray. The other boy’s were a deep blue.

Biff turned in his seat to confront his companion.

“Since we look so much alike,” Biff said, “maybe we’d better find out who we are. I’m Biff Brewster. So you can’t be. I mean, if I am Biff Brewster—and I know I was until I saw you just now—then you must be someone else.”

Biff was having a hard time trying to say what he meant. He wasn’t exactly sure just what he meant.

The other boy smiled.

“I am glad to make your acquaintance, Biff Brewster,” he said quite formally. “My name is Derek Zook. I am from The Netherlands.”

Derek’s English was good with hardly any trace of accent. His phrasing, somewhat stiff and formal, marked it as Continental, not American, English. It was obvious that he had acquired his knowledge of the language at school. His sentences didn’t have the free and easy swing of a native language.