I'm getting like Bill Black, Ragle thought. Knocking TV. It's a national pastime in itself. Think in your mind of all the homes, people sitting around saying, "What's happened to this country? Where's the level of education gone? The morality? Why rock-and-roll instead of the lovely Jeanette MacDonald and Nelson Eddy _Maytime_ music that we listened to when we were their age?"

Sitting close by him, Bill Black held on to the paper, jabbing at the picture with his finger. Obviously he was stirred by the sight of it. By golly, old Ragle Gumm's picture in newspapers coast to coast! What honor! A celebrity living next door to him.

"Listen, Ragle," Black said. "You're really making a mint out of this 'green man' contest, aren't you?" Envy was rampant on his face. "Couple of hours at it, and you've got a week's pay right there."

With irony Ragle said, "A real soft berth."

"No, I know you put in plenty of work at it," Black said. "But it's creative work; you're your own boss. You can't call that 'work' like working at a desk somewhere."

"I work at a desk," Ragle said.

"But," Black persisted, "it's more like a hobby. I don't mean to knock it. A man can work harder on a hobby than down at the office. I know when I'm out in the garage using my power saw, I really sweat at it. But -- there's a difference." Turning to Vic, he said, "You know what I mean. It's not drudgery. It's what I said; it's creative."

"I never thought of it like that," Vic answered.

"Don't you think what Ragle's doing is creative?" Black demanded.

Vic said, "No. Not necessarily."