He seemed to sense how critical the situation was. I worried the guy at the front gate would want me to show him what was in the box. But Rob’s DIP sign came to the rescue, since both Rob and the big guy were determined to get a good deal. They finally settled on seven dollars and fifty cents. Rob asked me if he could have the five I owed him, and then asked to borrow two-fifty. He said he’d started on the bucket of walnuts and would have the money to pay me back soon. I was pretty anxious to get out of there—the scrap heaps were already casting long shadows—so I forked over the money. I strapped the gift box to the back of my bike. Rob laid the signpost across his lap and tried to balance it as he jammed down on his pedals. He kept one hand on the signpost and one hand on the handlebars and weaved back and forth as he picked up speed toward the road. He looked like an old-time tightrope walker about to plummet to a broken neck. I shook my head and followed. It was slow going on the way back to town.
