As I came alongside he turned a good-humoured sweaty face toward me.
“It's dang hot,” said he.
“It is,” said I.
There is something indescribably fascinating about the sight of a strong workman in the full swing of his work, something—yes, beautiful! A hard pull of a job, with a strong man doing it joyfully, what could be finer to see? And he gave such a jaunty sense of youth and easy strength!
I watched him for some time, curiously interested, and thought I should like well to know him, but could not see just how to go about it.
The man astride the cross-arm who was heaving the wire forward from the spool on the distant truck suddenly cried out:
“Ease up there, Bill, she's caught.”
So Bill eased up and drew his arm across his dripping face.
“How many wires are you putting up?” I asked, fencing for some opening.
“Three,” said Bill.