"We don't mind if we do," grinned Walt, winking at Don. "There'll be nothing didding about business until we get a medium of exchange."
The Reverend Thomas Doylen speared Keg Johnson with a fishy glance and thundered: "A plague on both your houses!"
Johnson grinned unmercifully. "You didn't get that out of the Bible," he said.
"But it is none the less true," came the booming reply.
"So what? Mind telling me what I'm doomed to eternal damnation for?"
"Sacrilege and blasphemy," exploded Doylen. "I came to plead with you. I wanted to bring you into the fold—to show you the error of your sinful way. And what do I find? I find, guarding the city, a massive gate of mother-of-pearl and platinum. Solid gold bars on the gates which swing wide at the approach. A bearded man in a white cloak recording those who enter. Once inside—"
"You find a broad street paved with gold. Diamonds in profusion stud the street for traction since gold is somewhat slippery as a pavement. The sidewalks are pure silver and the street stop-lights are composed of green emeralds, red rubies, and amber amethysts. They got sort of practical at that point, reverend. Oh, I also see that you have taken your sample."
Doylen looked down at the brick. It was the size of a housebrick—but of pure gold. Stamped in the top surface were the words:
"99.99% pure gold. A souvenir of Fabriville."