The handyman came yesterday to install a new light fixture in place of the old one that nearly crashed on my head about a month ago, and to take a look at the crooked kitchen cabinet doors, loose closet doors, clogged gutters, etc. He rang the bell and, when I opened the door, I saw him standing on the porch with his back to me, holding our flower pot in his hands and shouting at the barking neighbor dogs: “This is enough, you bloody bastards! Keep calm! Why don’t you stop barking just for a change? Are you insane or what?” – And so on.

I could understand him. A half an hour later, when he was leaving, I wanted to pay him, but he declined the offer explaining that just after the Great Depression industrial workers usually didn’t accept the money until they had finished everything they were hired for, because, they used to say, if they did, they would certainly get drunk right away and would fail to appear at the workplace next morning. I could understand him about that too.