Joe, I said to him, you’re a bright guy: I ask you, Joe, is that fair, does that make sense? You want me to maybe install plumbing that’s going to be a lot weaker than the sewer system in the streets so that the first time the new customers flush the toilets everything backs up all over the bathroom floor—you want that, Joe? No, he says, I don’t want that. All right, then, I say, you want me to maybe install plumbing that’s a lot better than necessary, a lot stronger than the sewer system will require, and that’ll add cost to the houses that doesn’t have to be added—you want that, Joe? No, he says, I don’t want that. So, look, Joe, I say, you’re willing to admit this is a dumb proposition from top to bottom? Suppose someone asked you to build a house, Joe, and couldn’t tell you whether the foundation under it is concrete or steel or sand or cinder-block. That’s just exactly what you’re asking me to do, Joe, that’s just exactly what.”

There was a rustle of approbation. A tall, weedy, mournful-looking Musketeer blew his nose and carefully replaced the handkerchief in his doublet before commenting, “That’s the trouble with everybody. They think plumbers are miracle men. They got to learn that plumbers are only human.”

“I don’t know about that,” said a stout Huguenot who had come up in the last few moments. “I take the attitude that plumbers are miracle men. What we got to use is our American imagination, our American know-how, our American thinking straight to the point. You show me a sewer system in a new community, like, that hasn’t been installed yet, that nobody knows what its capacity is going to be, and I’ll figure out a plumbing system for the development that’ll fit it no matter what. And I’ll save on cost, too.”