He tried it. At first he felt a little strange, for time after time the individuals he asked seemed a little embarrassed, finally provided either coins or paper. "Damn cults everywhere. All right, here, just leave me alone."
The young supplicant soon found his purse bursting with paper.
It was a strange phenomenon. Ask for money, it is given to you.
Give it to machines, to individuals, and they give you products.
Not too unlike home, except for the first step.
Cronus frowned.
There is something I've overlooked, he thought to himself.
Something important. Well, tomorrow I'll get around to it.
The thought struck him.
Demo! He had been aging Demo! Then, he had helped his wife with the sundial. Then . . . . Oh, ho! The boy! What of the boy?
"Ah, I've lost him!" He spoke aloud. "I've let him slip off, and I didn't really note to where - rather, to when. Drat, it's inconvenient. I suppose he'll show up by and by, sometime. Yes. I wonder, what time?"
At that moment he heard his wife calling. Evening meal was ready. Thank goodness, I am famished, thought he.
It was a delicious meal.
Demo left the building, watched the chariots stopped in the broad streets, growls issuing from inside. At times other sounds issued from the vehicles. Loud and raucous, the sounds repeated and repeated, as though some musical instruments were being played out of tune. Accompanying these sounds were screams and yells of tortured innocents.