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ducks?”
    â€œThis time of year, no.”
    â€œThen what?” He was trying to be brave and friendly but Alex could tell that his knees trembled. His whole torso quavered.
    â€œOld people in this town, we just don’t like scammers. So we’re armed.”
    â€œLook, if you don’t want your driveway paved, eh, that’s okay.”
    â€œThat’s all right with you, then?”
    â€œYes, sir!”
    â€œI’m glad to hear that, son.”
    â€œI was only trying to help you out with your property values.”
    â€œThat’s a lie. This is why we hate scammers. They lie. You don’t give a shit about my property values. Do you? Admit it now, Jake Withers.”
    â€œI was just trying to help you out, sir.”
    â€œNo, you weren’t. You were trying to make a sale. That part I don’t mind so much but you were also trying to screw me over. That’s the part I mind. Why don’t you just admit it and then get on with your life? Maybe do something useful with it while you’re still young.”
    â€œLook, I’m going to go now.”
    â€œYou’re always free to go, son.”
    Jake Withers hurried off, but he was not heading back to his car.
    â€œHold on there, son.”
    Petrified, the young man stopped. He turned slowly.
    â€œDon’t go pestering the neighbours either.”
    Jake Withers hesitated. He gazed at the wild old man, perhaps for the first time he really looked at him, at his dusty, weathered face, a scratch of white morning stubble across his chin, at the receding hairline and thinning salt-and-peppery tufts, at those unflinching steely eyes. He looked like an old crabapple tree in an abandoned orchard. The old man was ornery, he could see that, probably not worth standing up to, but he did so anyway. “Sir, I got a right to earn a living, don’t I? I’m just calling on people today. I’m not causing you any harm. I’m not making trouble.”
    For the first time, the boy sounded genuine. Alex liked that, but felt a need to explain the rules of the road to him. “When I want to shop, son, I go to the store. People here, we don’t expect the store to come to us.”
    â€œI don’t want any trouble, sir, but if you don’t let me go door to door, like I have to do, it’s my job, well then . . .”
    He waited, as though the consequences were obvious.
    â€œWell then what?” Alex asked him.
    â€œYou won’t leave me a choice. I’ll call the police on you. I don’t want to, you understand that, I hate the police. But maybe I won’t have a choice.”
    Alex was curious. “Why do you hate the police?”
    He shrugged, explained, “I got no reason to like them.”
    The reply disappointed Alex, since it seemed rote, an impulse informed by hearsay, not experience. “Actually, son, I don’t want trouble either. That’s why I’m keeping you away from my neighbours. If you think I’m a bothersome bastard, a few doors down you’ll find worse than me. Don’t think it’s only the men either. There’s one woman— Look. What you need to know is this—nobody’s gonna let you pave their driveway.”
    The young man stood on the lawn, undecided.
    â€œThere’re better jobs than this,” Alex reminded him.
    Jake Withers studied the row of houses. Driving by on a scouting trip, he thought he’d struck the mother lode. He was less certain of that now. While it was true, as the man said, there were other jobs, he never seemed to land them, and anyway it was also true that there were other driveways, including those in more civilized communities. He strode back to his car, tossed his book of glossy photos of pavement samples into the backseat, and slammed the door. Going around to the other side he nearly slid down the embankment, but he found his footing and clambered up and piled himself into the car. He