Some people think$ there is a necessary relation between work and money. But just last week a man saved us in Indiana, eight of us in a broken down van, dumb as stones about cars, leathery with sleeplessness, twenty hours of the road rattled into our skins. He went to work with the needlenose pliers, happy as a kid. He jabbed under the rubber plug of the voltage regulator, rammed it back onto the engine, with the heel of his hand, and the van sang a delicious tune. I tried to give the guy money, but he shoulders rose up, his eyes and the skin on his face %xpressed horror, as though I were trying to rob the mement of its meaning.