With that I began to think how I might get at Bill, the lineman, and not merely weather talk, or wages talk, or work talk, but at Bill himself.  He was a character quite unusual in our daily lives here in the country.  I wondered what his interests could be, surely not mine nor Horace’s nor the Starkweathers’.  As soon as I began trying to visualize what his life might be, I warmed up to a grand scheme of capturing him, if by chance he was to be found the next day upon the town road.

All this may seem rather absurd in the telling, but I found it a downright good adventure for a quiet evening, and fully believe I felt for the moment like General Joffre planning to meet the Germans on the Marne.

“I have it!” I said aloud.

“You have what?” asked Harriet, somewhat startled.

“The grandest piece of strategy ever devised in this town,” said I.

With that I went delving in a volume of universal information I keep near me, one of those knowing books that tells you how tall the great Pryamid is and why a hen cackles after laying an egg, and having found what I wanted I asked Harriet if she could find a tape measure around the place.  She is a wonderful person and knows where everything is.  When she handed me the tape measure she asked me what in the world I was so mysterious about.

“Harriet,” I said, “I’m going on a great adventure.  I’ll tell you all about it to-morrow.”

“Nonsense,” said Harriet.

It is this way with the fancies of the evening—­they often look flat and flabby and gray the next morning.  Quite impossible!  But if I’d acted on half the good and grand schemes I’ve had o’ nights I might now be quite a remarkable person.

I went about my work the next morning just as usual.  I even avoided looking at the little roll of tape on the corner of the mantel as I went out.  It seemed a kind of badge of my absurdity.  But about the middle of the fore-noon, while I was in my garden, I heard a tremendous racket up the road.  Rattle—­bang, zip, toot!  As I looked up I saw the boss lineman and his crew careering up the road in their truck, and the bold driver was driving like Jehu, the son of Nimshi.  And there were ladders and poles clattering out behind, and rolls of wire on upright spools rattling and flashing in the sunshine, and the men of the crew were sitting along the sides of the truck with hats off and hair flying as they came bumping and bounding up the road.  It was a brave thing to see going by on a spring morning!

As they passed, whom should I see but Bill himself, at the top of the load, with a broad smile on his face.  When his eye fell on me he threw up one arm, and gave me the railroad salute.

“Hey, there!” he shouted.

“Hey there, yourself,” I shouted in return—­and could not help it.

I had a curious warm feeling of being taken along with that jolly crowd of workmen, with Bill on the top of the load.