such a conspicious example of Nature's misplaced confidences.
He shares, of course, the outstanding characteristic of all furnace men. He is elusive. You never really get any of them at bay—unless on Christmas morning and then you can't wait. Their first call upon you is before the light of day (you are blessed if don't know when) and their second, in the afternoon when you have callers.
I have gone so far (when the callers were of second rank socially) as to excuse myself when the first raucous rumblings under us began, and endeavor to get a word with Williams from the top of the cellar steps or out of the back window, but I rarely ever succeed. The outside door bangs the announcement of his departure just as I reach the top step, or if I watch for him from the study window overlooking the back area, he is either late that night or has come an hour earlier than usual, and my vigil is in vain.
Of course there are seasons when, and persons with whom, elusiveness is a virtue. The longer I know Williams the more I realize this. Deference to his superiors is not one of his strong points. Indeed, he is not conscious
