She leaned back in her chair a bit, and softly began to laugh. "Panning for gold takes a lot of patience, Mr. Mix. All fun and games for the yuppies on a weekend trip to the sluice, but they never seem to find much of any importance. Why do you think that is?" Mix shook his head a moment, and gave her that dazed look of a quail on the center stripe of the highway, the one that wonders to itself just exactly how it got in this situation when all it was going for was a nice little walk.

In his own quest for the mother lode known as 'Go-Go Tawney', the ReVole rolled two quarters to the end of the bar near the jukebox and waved at the bartender. A few moments later, the song filled the tiny room. She watched amusedly as the tavern occupants cut their respective rugs, then turned to the stranger. "What do you say, Mr.Mix? It's no wild dance on the mountain, to be sure..." She stood and held his misread hands.

"I don't dance with strangers," he stubbornly replied, yet stood anyway, and glancing down at her, continued, "And you have yet to tell me your name."
She appeared pensive for a brief moment, poised with her fingertip to her lip before she replied: "You can call me Uncle."
"You're kidding, you mean to tell me that's your name?" he asked
"No," she said, "but you seem to have such little familiarity with actually saying it, I thought the practice might do you some good."