Beside the road they came upon a lineman eating his lunch.
“Stop and talk,” Saxon whispered.
“Aw, what's the good? He's a lineman. What'd he know about farmin'?”
“You never can tell. He's our kind. Go ahead, Billy. You just speak to him. He isn't working now anyway, and he'll be more likely to talk. See that tree in there, just inside the gate, and the way the branches are grown together. It's a curiosity. Ask him about it. That's a good way to get started.”
Billy stopped, when they were alongside.
“How do you do,” he said gruffly.
The lineman, a young fellow, paused in the cracking of a hard-boiled egg to stare up at the couple.
“How do you do,” he said.
Billy swung his pack from his shoulders to the ground, and Saxon rested her telescope basket.
“Peddlin'?” the young man asked, too discreet to put his question directly to Saxon, yet dividing it between her and Billy, and cocking his eye at the covered basket.