After quite a time, when we had nearly cleaned up the landslide, I heard the husky road-worker chuckling to himself; finally, straightening up, he said: "Say, there's more things in a road than ever I dreamt of." "I see," said I, "that the new spectacles are a good fit." The road-worker laughed long and loud.
"You're a good one, all right," he said.

"I see what YOU mean.

I catch your point." "And now that you've got them on," said I, "and they are serving you so well, I'm not going to sell them to you at all.

I'm going to present them to you--for I haven't seen anybody in a long time that I've enjoyed meeting more than I have you." We nurse a fiction that people love to cover up their feelings; but I have learned that if the feeling is real and deep they love far better to find a way to uncover it.
"Same here," said the road-worker simply, but with a world of genuine feeling in his voice.
Well, when it came time to stop work the road-worker insisted that I get in and go home with him.
"I want you to see my wife and kids," said he.
The upshot of it was that I not only remained for supper--and a good supper it was--but I spent the night in his little home, close at the side of the road near the foot of a fine hill.

And from time to time all night long, it seemed to me, I could hear the rush of cars going by in the smooth road outside, and sometimes their lights flashed in at my window, and sometimes I heard them sound their brassy horns.
I wish I could tell more of what I saw there, of the garden back of the house, and of all the road-worker and his wife told me of their simple history--but, the road calls! When I set forth early this morning the road-worker followed me out to the smooth macadam (his wife standing in the doorway with her hands rolled in her apron) and said to me, a bit shyly: "I'll be more sort o'-- sort o' interested in roads since I've seen you." "I'll be along again some of these days," said I, laughing, "and I'll stop in and show you my new stock of spectacles.