Part 8 (1/2)

Whats the matter there?

Why, it seems to have pulled clear of its moorings. You look at it.

He looked, with that expression of meditative resourcefulness peculiar to the true Yankee countenance. Hmneeds new wood there,and there; that stuffll never hold. And so the old bottle was patched with new skin at the points of strain, and in the zest of reconstruction Jonathan almost forgot to regret the walk. Well have it to-morrow night, he said: the moon will be better.

The next evening I met him below the turn of the road. Wonderful night its going to be, he said, as he pushed his wheel up the last hill.

Yes I said, a little uneasily. I was thinking of the kitchen pump.

Finally I brought myself to face it.

There seems to be some troublewith the pump, I said apologetically. I felt that it was my fault, though I knew it wasnt.

More trouble? What sort of trouble?

Oh, it wheezes and makes funny sucking noises, and the water spits and spits, and then bursts out, and then doesnt come at all. It sounds a little like a cat with a bone in its throat.

Probably just that, said Jonathan: grain of sand in the valve, very likely.

Shall I get a plumber?

Plumber! Ill fix it myself in three shakes of a lambs tail.

Well, I said, relieved: you can do that after supper while I see that all the chickens are in, and those turkeys, and then well have our walk.

Accordingly I went off on my tour. When I returned the pale moon-shadows were already beginning to show in the lingering dusk of the fading daylight. Indoors seemed very dark, but on the kitchen floor a candle sat, flaring and dipping.

Jonathan, I called, Im ready.

Well, Im not, said a voice at my feet.

Why, where are you? Oh, there! I bent down and peered under the sink at a shape crouched there. Havent you finished?

Finished! Ive just got the thing apart.

I should say you had! I regarded the various pieces of iron and leather and wood as they lay, mere dismembered shapes, about the dim kitchen.

It doesnt seem as if it would ever come together againto be a pump, I said in some depression.

Oh, thats easy! Its just a question of time.

How much time?

Heaven knows.

Was it the valve?

It wa.s.several things.

His tone had the vagueness born of concentration. I could see that this was no time to press for information. Besides, in the field of mechanics, as Jonathan has occasionally pointed out to me, I am rather like a traveler who has learned to ask questions in a foreign tongue, but not to understand the answers.