"Good Gawd!" he says, just like that: "Good Gawd!" That's all.
"Well," I says to him, "who was right, the scientists or the artists?"
"The artists!" he sorta screeches. "The artists were right all the time ... there is no reality! It's all a fabric of illusion we've created ourselves! And now I've ripped a hole in that!"
He gives a strangled hoot and goes hightailin' outta here like somepin' was after him. Jumps in his car and roars off down the road and disappears.
Naw, I don't mean he really disappeared—are you nuts? Just roared on down the road till he got so small I couldn't see him no more. You know—the way things do when they go farther and farther away. Happens every day; that's what us artists mean by perspective.
The machine? Well, I dunno what to do with it. If Carter ever comes back he might not like my getting rid of it. I was thinking mebbe I'd put it in the hobby show at the county fair next week, though. Ya notice how that funny-looking cube inside there gets bigger every time you look at it? There ... it just doubled its size again, see? People at the fair oughtta get a big kick outta that. No telling how big it'll get with all those people looking at it.
But come on, let's go fishing. We'd better hurry or it'll be too late.
THE END
Transcriber's Note:
This etext was produced from Astounding Science Fiction July 1959. Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed. Minor spelling and typographical errors have been corrected without note. Informal spellings have been retained.