But he wouldn't forget. In the winter nights, when the stars were sharp
and cold in a sky of ringing crystal black, he would--go out and watch
them? Or pull his roof over him and wait for dawn? He didn't know yet.
Still--even if this was a long ways from being the best of all possible
universes, it had enough in it to make a man glad of his day.
He whistled softly, feeling the words run through his head:
Lift your glasses high,
kiss the girls good-bye,
(Live well, my friend, live well, live you well)
for we're riding,
for we're riding,
for we're riding out to Terran sky! Terran sky! Terran sky!
The thought came all at once that it could be a song of comradeship,
too.