Their Brothers’ Keepers

           OnthemorningofSeptember2,acopperwirebrokeinCalifornia,betweentwotelephonepolesbythetrackofthePacificbranchlineofTaggartTranscontinental.

           Aslow,thinrainhadbeenfallingsincemidnight,andtherehadbeennosunrise,onlyagraylightseepingthroughasoggysky—andthebrilliantraindropshangingonthetelephonewireshadbeentheonlysparksglitteringagainstthechalkoftheclouds,theleadoftheoceanandthesteeloftheoilderricksdescendingaslonebristlesdownadesolatehillside.Thewireshadbeenwornbymorerainsandyearsthantheyhadbeenintendedtocarry;oneofthemhadkeptsagging,throughthehoursofthatmorning,underthefragileloadofraindrops;thenitsonelastdrophadgrownonthewire’scurveandhadhunglikeacrystalbead,gatheringtheweightofmanyseconds;thebeadandthewirehadgivenuptogetherand,assoundlessasthefalloftears,thewirehadbrokenandfallenwiththefallofthebead.

           ThemenattheDivisionHeadquartersofTaggartTranscontinentalavoidedlookingatoneanother,whenthebreakofthetelephonelinewasdiscoveredandreported.Theymadestatementspainfullymiscalculatedtoseemtorefertotheproblem,yettostatenothing,nonefoolingtheothers.