If I had not been so much in earnest, I think I should have been tempted to laugh outright.

I had begun my talk with him half jestingly, with the amusing idea of breaking through his shell, but I now found myself tremendously engrossed, and desired nothing in the world (at that moment) so much as to make him see what I saw.

I felt as though I held a live human soul in my hand.
"Say, partner," said the road-worker, "are you sure you aren't--" He tapped his forehead and began to edge away.
I did not answer his question at all, but continued, with my eyes fixed on him: "It is a peculiar sort of blindness.

Apparently, as you look about, you see everything there is to see, but as a matter of fact you see nothing in the world but this road--" "It's time that I was seein' it again then," said he, making as if to turn back to work, but remaining with a disturbed expression on his countenance.
"The Spectacles I have to sell," said I, "are powerful magnifiers"-- he glanced again at the gray bag.

"When you put them on you will see a thousand wonderful things besides the road--" "Then you ain't road-worker after all!" he said, evidently trying to be bluff and outright with me.
Now your substantial, sober, practical American will stand only about so much verbal foolery; and there is nothing in the world that makes him more uncomfortable--yes, downright mad!--than to feel that he is being played with.