"I refuse to make a fool of myself."
"The foolish thing," remarked the Professor, "is not to try."
"Yeah, that trapper will be comin' back after awhile, with his pals. He'll keep us from goin' back the way we came. We'll have to go ahead. And I hate to get all muddy. Come on, pal, just point your finger and think the magic words."
He did feel like a fool, and if the other two had seemed at all skeptical, he would never have dared do it. Nevertheless, there did seem to be nothing to lose. He pointed his finger at the dark and muddy water, at the tangle of fallen trees and rotting water lilies, and concentrated.
"Think hard," urged the Professor.
He thought hard and forgot that they were there. Suddenly, a sheet of blinding flame swept over the swamp. He heard Angel cry out, and covered his own eyes. When the flame had passed, the water was gone, and with it the tangle of fallen vegetation. Before them lay a bed of hard dry clay.
"You did it," said Angel in awe.
"I didn't," he replied angrily. "You just can't do things like that by thinking."
"I know I can't," said Angel. "But you can. It's magic."