"That's so," said John Starkweather, "if I could only get workmen that believed it." By that time I could see that he was beginning to be interested. I put back the wheel, gave it a light turn and screwed on the nut. He helped me with the other end of the axle with all good humor. "Perhaps," I said, as engagingly as I knew how, "you'd like to try the art yourself? You take the grease this time and I'll steady the wagon." "All right," he said, laughing, "I'm in for anything." He took the grease box and the paddle--less gingerly than I thought he would. "Is that right?" he demanded, and so he put on the grease. And oh, it was good to see Harriet in the doorway! "Steady there," I said, "not so much at the end; now put the box down on the reach." And so together we greased the wagon, talking all the time in the friendliest way. I actually believe that he was having a pretty good time. At least it had the virtue of unexpectedness. He wasn't bored! When he had finished, we both straightened our backs and looked at each other. There was a twinkle in his eye; then we both laughed. "He's all right," I said to myself. I held up my hands, then he held up his; it was hardly necessary to prove that wagon-greasing was not a delicate operation. "It's a good, wholesome sign," I said, "but it'll come off. Do you happen to remember a story of Tolstoi's called, 'Ivan the Fool?'" ("What is a farmer doing quoting Tolstoi!" remarked his countenance--though he said not a word.) "In the kingdom of Ivan, you remember," I said, "it was the rule that whoever had hard places on his hands came to table, but whoever had not must eat what the others left." Thus I led him up the back steps and poured him a basin of hot water--which I brought myself from the kitchen, Harriet having marvelously and completely disappeared. We both washed our hands, talking with great good humor. When we had finished I said: "Sit down, friend, if you've time, and let's talk." So he sat down on one of the logs of my woodpile: a solid sort of man, rather warm after his recent activities. He looked me over with some interest and, I thought, friendliness. "Why does a man like you," he asked finally, "waste himself on a little farm back here in the country?" For a single instant I came nearer to being angry than I have been for a long time. _Waste_ myself! So we are judged without knowledge. I had a sudden impulse to demolish him (if I could) with the nearest sarcasms I could lay hand to. He was so sure of himself! "Oh, well," I thought, with vainglorious superiority, "he doesn't know." So I said: "What would you have me be--a millionaire?" He smiled, but with a sort of sincerity. "You might be," he said; "who can tell!"