"Uncle Al doesn't think so. And neither do we!"
A long silence while the river mists seemed to weave a bright cocoon of radiance about Jimmy clinging to the bank, and the great circular disk that had swallowed up Uncle Al.
Then the voices began again. "No reason why Uncle Al shouldn't have a little fun out of life, Jimmy. Gold's easy to make and we'll make some right now. A big lump of gold in Uncle Al's hand won't hurt him in any way."
"Whenever he gets any spending money he gives it away!" Jimmy gulped.
"I know, Jimmy. But he'll listen to you. Tell him you want to go to New Orleans, too!"
Jimmy looked up quickly then. In his heart was something of the wonder he'd felt when he'd seen his first riverboat and waited for he knew not what. Something of the wonder that must have come to men seeking magic in the sky, the rainmakers of ancient tribes and of days long vanished.
Only to Jimmy the wonder came now with a white burst of remembrance and recognition.
It was as though he could sense something of himself in the two towering spheres that rose straight up out of the water behind the disk. Still and white and beautiful they were, like bubbles floating on a rainbow sea with all the stars of space behind them.
Staring at them, Jimmy saw himself as he would be, and knew himself for what he was. It was not a glory to be long endured.