“The water is up in Wine Creek,” cried Joe Welling with the air of Pheidippides bringing news of the victory of the Greeks in the struggle at Marathon.  His finger beat a tattoo upon Ed Thomas’s broad chest.  “By Trunion bridge it is within eleven and a half inches of the flooring,” he went on, the words coming quickly and with a little whistling noise from between his teeth.  An expression of helpless annoyance crept over the faces of the four.

“I have my facts correct.  Depend upon that.  I went to Sinnings’ Hardware Store and got a rule.  Then I went back and measured.  I could hardly believe my own eyes.  It hasn’t rained you see for ten days.  At first I didn’t know what to think.  Thoughts rushed through my head.  I thought of subterranean passages and springs.  Down under the ground went my mind, delving about.  I sat on the floor of the bridge and rubbed my head.  There wasn’t a cloud in the sky, not one.  Come out into the street and you’ll see.  There wasn’t a cloud.  There isn’t a cloud now.  Yes, there was a cloud.  I don’t want to keep back any facts.  There was a cloud in the west down near the horizon, a cloud no bigger than a man’s hand.

“Not that I think that has anything to do with it.  There it is, you see.  You understand how puzzled I was.

“Then an idea came to me.  I laughed.  You’ll laugh, too.  Of course it rained over in Medina County.  That’s interesting, eh?  If we had no trains, no mails, no telegraph, we would know that it rained over in Medina County.  That’s where Wine Creek comes from.  Everyone knows that.  Little old Wine Creek brought us the news.  That’s interesting.  I laughed.  I thought I’d tell you—­it’s interesting, eh?”

Joe Welling turned and went out at the door.  Taking a book from his pocket, he stopped and ran a finger down one of the pages.  Again he was absorbed in his duties as agent of the Standard Oil Company.  “Hern’s Grocery will be getting low on coal oil.  I’ll see them,” he muttered, hurrying along the street, and bowing politely to the right and left at the people walking past.

When George Willard went to work for the Winesburg Eagle he was besieged by Joe Welling.  Joe envied the boy.  It seemed to him that he was meant by Nature to be a reporter on a newspaper.  “It is what I should be doing, there is no doubt of that,” he declared, stopping George Willard on the sidewalk before Daugherty’s Feed Store.  His eyes began to glisten and his forefinger to tremble.  “Of course I make more money with the Standard Oil Company and I’m only telling you,” he added.  “I’ve got nothing against you but I should have your place.  I could do the work at odd moments.  Here and there I would run finding out things you’ll never see.”