After a minute the door'd open and the city folk would come out, looking puzzled and kind of sneaky. They'd give a glance up at the roof and see the cowbell mounted there. Some of them might grin at the way they'd been had. But mostly they'd get into their car and drive off maybe a little faster'n they would've ordinarily. If it was a woman, it was five times as funny. Because some of the older men were always sitting around on the porch of Charley's store playing pinochle, or lounging down by the bridge just talking, and when the woman would come out they'd all grin at her and those who had mustaches might twiddle them a bit, and she'd get redder'n a bushel of tomatoes. Women drove off faster'n anybody, usually. Some townspeople said it wasn't a very good way to advertise Owensville to passersby. But Charley said that a town of thirty-two people didn't have to worry about advertising one way or the other--it just needed diversion. And since it was on his property, the cowbell stayed up. It was just a gag. It never really hurt anybody. Charley, who could incline to philosophy when it suited him, said that the only person it could hurt was somebody who was plain ashamed of being human. And, on the personal side, he admitted he got a kick out of seeing them all flustered up that way. Probably the outhouse and the bell'd still be there, and Charley'd still be getting his laughs, if the fat lady in the green convertible hadn't decided to do some praying. * * * * * It was a late July afternoon, and plenty hot. The sun was reflecting like yellow-green fire off the hills around, and everybody was sitting in the shade. Charley Mason and Sam Knudson were sitting on the store porch playing gin, and Luke Yates was just coming up the steps, when they heard a car approaching. Charley and Sam paused in their game and Luke turned his gray head to look. "Maybe this time," Charley said. Luke Yates studied the dust cloud moving toward town above the tops of the trees. "Coming pretty fast," he said. "Bet they drive right on through." "A dollar," said Charley. "You bounce harder when you drive fast." "It's on," said Luke. Waiting, Charley Mason leaned back in his chair and half-closed his eyes, a lean, bald man in shirt-sleeves, the hand holding his cards relaxed in his lap. They could hear the murmur of the creek carrying away the runoff from last night's rain, and the air was sweet with the breath of the fields off down the valley. "Rich man," said Charley, looking across the yard at his outhouse, "poor man, beggar man, thief. In there, you're all alike in the eyes of God, I guess." Sam Knudson nodded thoughtfully. "In the eyes of _something_, at any rate." "All alike," said Luke Yates. "Can't see your wallet from _there_," Charley said. "Your brains either," said Luke. After a moment, Charley said, "Some people's brains, maybe." They all nodded.