I ran over and grabbed him by the ankles and pulled him out and stood him on his feet. He was bleeding a little from where he'd rubbed along the pavement and his clothes were torn and dirty. But he wasn't angry any more; he was just plain scared. He was looking down the road as if he'd seen a ghost and he still was shaking.

"But there's nothing there," he said.

"There'll be other cars," I said, "and you are across the road. Hadn't we ought to put out some flares or flags or something?" That seemed to snap him out of it.

"Flags," he said.

He climbed into the cab and got out some flags.

I walked down the road with him while he set them out.

He put the last one down and squatted down beside it. He took out a handkerchief and began dabbing at his face.

"Where can I get a phone?" he asked. "We'll have to get some help."

"Someone has to figure out a way to clear the barrier off the road," I said. "In a little while there'll be a lot of traffic. It'll be piled up for miles." He dabbed at his face some more. There was a lot of dust and grease.

And a little blood.

"A phone?" he asked.

"Oh, any place," I told him. "Just go up to any house. They'll let you use a phone." And here we were, I thought, talking about this thing as if it were an ordinary road block, as if it were a fallen tree or a washed-out culvert.

"Say, what's the name of this place, anyhow? I got to tell them where I am calling from."

"Millville," I told him.

"You live here?" I nodded.

He got up and tucked the handkerchief back into his pocket.

"Well," he said, "I'll go and find that phone." He wanted me to offer to go with him, but I had something else to do. I had to walk around the road block and get up to Johnny's Motor Court and explain to Alf what had happened to delay me.