While Mr. Blatz was putting up the pegboards and starting the workbench, Mr. Crombie told him of this idea about paneling the whole end of the cellar. Mr. Blatz agreed that this would be pretty. Without further discussion he appeared the next morning with a pile of boards sticking over the end of his light truck and proceeded with the paneling, which he then stained and waxed according to his taste.

``Now,'' he said, ``we got to put in some outlets for them power tools; then a couple of fluorescent lamps over the workbench an' I guess we're about through down here.''

It all did look very efficient and shipshape. There was no question of that. ``By the way,'' said Mr. Blatz, packing his tools into a battered carrier, ``them power tools needs extra voltage. I guess you know about that. Before you use' em the light company's got to run in a heavy line and you'll need a new fuse box for the extra circuits. That ain't too bad 'ceptin' the light company's so busy you cann't ever get' em to do nothin'.''

Instead of being depressed by this news, Mr. Crombie was actually relieved. At least the moment was postponed when he had to face the mystery of the power tools. He followed Mr. Blatz up the cellar stairs. As usual, Mrs. Crombie was standing in the midst of a confusion of cooking utensils. Mr. Blatz sat down in the only unoccupied kitchen chair.

``Well,'' he said, ``got your man fixed up nice down there. He oughta be able to build a new house with all them contraptions.'' Mr. Crombie watched his wife with an anxious expression. ``I was just sayin' to him that I'm all ready now for anything else you want done.'' Mr. Crombie couldn't remember his saying any such thing.