"Don't lose your capacity for dreaming, in the process."
"Dreams?" I said. "Oh, I've got those. I want an island somewhere in the sun, where I can spend my time fishing and watching the sea."
"You're speaking cynically—but you're still attempting to concretize an abstraction," Foster said. "But no matter—materialism is simply another form of idealism."
I looked at Foster. "But I know I'll never have those things—or that Justice you were talking about, either. Once you really know you'll never make it...."
"Perhaps unattainability is an essential element of any dream," Foster said. "But hold onto your dream, whatever it is—don't ever give it up."
"So much for philosophy," I said. "Where is it getting us?"
"You'd like to see the papers," Foster said. He fished a key ring from an inner pocket. "If you don't mind going out to the car," he said, "and perhaps getting your hands dirty, there's a strong-box welded to the frame. I keep photostats of everything there, along with my passport, emergency funds and so on. I've learned to be ready to travel on very short notice. Lift the floorboards; you'll see the box."
"It's not all that urgent," I said. "I'll take a look in the morning—after I've caught up on some sleep. But don't get the wrong idea—it's just my knot-headed curiosity."
"Very well," Foster said. He lay back, sighed. "I'm tired, Legion," he said. "My mind is tired."
"Yeah," I said, "so is mine—not to mention other portions of my anatomy."