said he enthusiastically, and his voice dropped into the
tone of one speaking to a member of the inner guild. "I know how to get
'em."

"How?" I asked in an equally mysterious voice.

"I put a stone or two in the ruts!"

"Do you?" I exclaimed. "I've done that very thing myself--many a time!
Just place a good hard tru--I mean stone, with a bit of common dust
sprinkled over it, in the middle of the rut, and they'll look out for
THAT rut for some time to come."

"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."

But it was not until we reached the subject of oiling that we mounted to
the real summit of enthusiastic agreement. Of all things on the road, or
above the road, or in the waters under the road, there is nothing that
the road-worker dislikes more than oil.

"It's all right," said he, "to use oil for surfacin' and to keep down
the dust. You don't need much and it ain't messy. But sometimes when you
see oil pumped on a road, you know that either the contractor has been
jobbin', or else the road's worn out and ought to be rebuilt.