cried Mrs. Dickie. “Look at you go!”
“It would be even faster,” said Cady, “if it weren’t for
that tier of boxes by the floor. Why not move them over here, at eye level,
see? And what on earth is this table doing back here?”
“For my children,” said Mrs. Dickie. “Your children play
back here?”
“Not real children,” said Mrs. Dickie. “That’s what I call
the plants on the table—the wise little cyclamen, the playful little screw
pine, the temperamental little sansevieria, the—”
“Do you realize,” said Cady, “that you must spend twenty
man-minutes and heaven knows how many foot-pounds a day just detouring around
it?”
“Well,” said Mrs. Dickie, “I’m sure it’s awfully nice of you
to take such an interest, but you know, I’d just feel kind of lost without—”
“I can’t help taking an interest,” said Cady. “It causes me
actual physical pain to see things done the wrong way, when it’s so easy to do
them the right way. Oops! Moved your thumb right back to where I told you not
to put it!”
“Chief Atkins,” whispered Upton Beaton in the meeting hall.
“Eh?”
“Don’t you scratch your head like that,” said Beaton. “Spread
your fingers like this, see? Then dig in. Cover twice as much scalp in half
the time.”
“All due respect to you, sir,” said Atkins, “this village
could do with a little progress and perking up.”
“I’d be the last to stand in its way,” said Beaton. After a
moment he added, ‘“111 fares the land, to hastening ills a prey, where wealth
accumulates, andtnen decay.’”
“Cady’s across the street, looking at the fire truck,” said
Ed Newcomb, who had served twenty years as secretary of the fire department.
The Ilium real estate man, who had put stars in every eye except Beaton’s, had
assured Newcomb that his twenty-six-room Georgian colonial, with a little
paper and paint, would look like a steal to a corporation executive at fifty
thousand dollars. “Let’s tell him the good news!” Newcomb’s father had bought
the ark at a bank foreclosure sale. He was the only bidder.
The fire department joined its newest member by the fire
truck and congratulated him on his election.
“Thanks,” said Cady, tinkering with the apparatus strapped
to the side of the big red truck. “By George, but there’s a lot of chrome on
one of these things,” he said.
“Wait till you see the new one!” said Ed Newcomb.
“They make the damn things as ornamental as a
merry-go-round,” said Cady. “You’d think they were playthings. Lord! What all
this plating and gimcrackery must add to the cost! New one, you say?”
“Sure,” said Newcomb. “It hasn’t been voted on yet, but it’s
sure to pass.” The joy of the prospect showed on every face.
“Fifteen hundred gallons a minute!” said a fireman.
“Two floodlights!” said another.
“Closed cab!”
“Eighteen-foot ladders!”
“Carbon dioxide tank!”
“And a swivel-mounted nozzle in the turret smack-spang in
the middle!” cried Atkins above them all.
After the silence that followed the passionate hymn to the
new truck, Cady spoke. “Preposterous,” he said. “This is a perfectly sound,
adequate truck here.”
“Mr. Cady is absolutely right,” said Upton Beaton. “It’s a
sensible, sturdy truck, with many years of dependable service ahead of it. We
were foolish to think of putting the fire district into debt for the next
twenty years, just for an expensive plaything for the fire department. Mr. Cady
has cut right to the heart of the matter.” “It’s the same sort of thing I’ve
been fighting in industry for half my life,” said Cady. “Men falling in love
with show instead of the job to be done. The sole purpose of a fire department
should be to put out fires and to do it as economically as possible.”
Beaton clapped Chief Atkins on the arm. “Learn something
every day, don’t we, Chief?”
Atkins smiled sweetly, as though he’d just been
“It would be even faster,” said Cady, “if it weren’t for
that tier of boxes by the floor. Why not move them over here, at eye level,
see? And what on earth is this table doing back here?”
“For my children,” said Mrs. Dickie. “Your children play
back here?”
“Not real children,” said Mrs. Dickie. “That’s what I call
the plants on the table—the wise little cyclamen, the playful little screw
pine, the temperamental little sansevieria, the—”
“Do you realize,” said Cady, “that you must spend twenty
man-minutes and heaven knows how many foot-pounds a day just detouring around
it?”
“Well,” said Mrs. Dickie, “I’m sure it’s awfully nice of you
to take such an interest, but you know, I’d just feel kind of lost without—”
“I can’t help taking an interest,” said Cady. “It causes me
actual physical pain to see things done the wrong way, when it’s so easy to do
them the right way. Oops! Moved your thumb right back to where I told you not
to put it!”
“Chief Atkins,” whispered Upton Beaton in the meeting hall.
“Eh?”
“Don’t you scratch your head like that,” said Beaton. “Spread
your fingers like this, see? Then dig in. Cover twice as much scalp in half
the time.”
“All due respect to you, sir,” said Atkins, “this village
could do with a little progress and perking up.”
“I’d be the last to stand in its way,” said Beaton. After a
moment he added, ‘“111 fares the land, to hastening ills a prey, where wealth
accumulates, andtnen decay.’”
“Cady’s across the street, looking at the fire truck,” said
Ed Newcomb, who had served twenty years as secretary of the fire department.
The Ilium real estate man, who had put stars in every eye except Beaton’s, had
assured Newcomb that his twenty-six-room Georgian colonial, with a little
paper and paint, would look like a steal to a corporation executive at fifty
thousand dollars. “Let’s tell him the good news!” Newcomb’s father had bought
the ark at a bank foreclosure sale. He was the only bidder.
The fire department joined its newest member by the fire
truck and congratulated him on his election.
“Thanks,” said Cady, tinkering with the apparatus strapped
to the side of the big red truck. “By George, but there’s a lot of chrome on
one of these things,” he said.
“Wait till you see the new one!” said Ed Newcomb.
“They make the damn things as ornamental as a
merry-go-round,” said Cady. “You’d think they were playthings. Lord! What all
this plating and gimcrackery must add to the cost! New one, you say?”
“Sure,” said Newcomb. “It hasn’t been voted on yet, but it’s
sure to pass.” The joy of the prospect showed on every face.
“Fifteen hundred gallons a minute!” said a fireman.
“Two floodlights!” said another.
“Closed cab!”
“Eighteen-foot ladders!”
“Carbon dioxide tank!”
“And a swivel-mounted nozzle in the turret smack-spang in
the middle!” cried Atkins above them all.
After the silence that followed the passionate hymn to the
new truck, Cady spoke. “Preposterous,” he said. “This is a perfectly sound,
adequate truck here.”
“Mr. Cady is absolutely right,” said Upton Beaton. “It’s a
sensible, sturdy truck, with many years of dependable service ahead of it. We
were foolish to think of putting the fire district into debt for the next
twenty years, just for an expensive plaything for the fire department. Mr. Cady
has cut right to the heart of the matter.” “It’s the same sort of thing I’ve
been fighting in industry for half my life,” said Cady. “Men falling in love
with show instead of the job to be done. The sole purpose of a fire department
should be to put out fires and to do it as economically as possible.”
Beaton clapped Chief Atkins on the arm. “Learn something
every day, don’t we, Chief?”
Atkins smiled sweetly, as though he’d just been
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