“Ain't it gorgeous,” said the husky road-worker, chuckling joyfully, “to see 'em bump?”
“It is,” said I—“gorgeous.”
After that, shovelling part of the time in a leisurely way, and part of the time responding to the urgent request of the signs by the roadside (it pays to advertise!), the husky road-worker and I discussed many great and important subjects, all, however, curiously related to roads. Working all day long with his old horse, removing obstructions, draining out the culverts, filling ruts and holes with new stone, and repairing the damage of rain and storm, the road-worker was filled with a world of practical information covering roads and road-making. And having learned that I was of the same calling, we exchanged views with the greatest enthusiasm. It was astonishing to see how nearly in agreement we were as to what constituted an ideal road.
“Almost everything,” said he, “depends on depth. If you get a good solid foundation, the' ain't anything that can break up your road.”
“Exactly what I have discovered,” I responded. “Get down to bedrock and do an honest job of building.”
“And don't have too many sharp turns.”
“No,” said I, “long, leisurely curves are best—all through life. You have observed that nearly all the accidents on the road are due to sharp turnings.”
“Right you are!” he exclaimed.
“A man who tries to turn too sharply on his way nearly always skids.”
“Or else turns turtle in the ditch.”