I answered with a monosyllable which I knew he could not quite catch. Silence again for some time, during which I shovelled valiantly and with great inward amusement. Oh, there is nothing like cracking a hard human nut! I decided at that moment, to have him invite me to supper.
Finally, when I showed no signs of stopping my work, he himself paused and leaned on his shovel. I kept right on.
“Say, partner,” said he, finally, “did YOU read those signs as you come up the road?”
“Yes,” I said, “but they weren't for me, either. My section's a long one, too.”
“Say, you ain't a road-worker, are you?” he asked eagerly.
“Yes,” said I, with a sudden inspiration, “that's exactly what I am—a road-worker.”
“Put her there, then, partner,” he said, with a broad smile on his bronzed face.
He and I struck hands, rested on our shovels (like old hands at it), and looked with understanding into each other's eyes. We both knew the trade and the tricks of the trade; all bars were down between us. The fact is, we had both seen and profited by the peculiar signs at the roadside.
“Where's your section?” he asked easily.
“Well,” I responded after considering the question, “I have a very long and hard section. It begins at a place called Prosy Common—do you know it?—and reaches to the top of Clear Hill. There are several bad spots on the way, I can tell you.”