"Ma'am?"

"Yep, I was watchin' the TV about that time and it started just a flickerin'. Bet it was you."

"Me?"

"Sure. See every time old Peterson (the flying postman) goes out flying, he makes my TV flicker and I'll bet you did, too."

There was a pause while I thought about that.

"You're not going to fly that little airplane home tonight, are you?"

"Yes Ma'am. My wife is driving a friend here to help me."

"Yes Ma'am."

"Got any kids?"

"No Ma'am."

"How long you been married?"

"About nine years."

"And you don't have no kids?"

"No Ma'am."

"Well, don't y'all wait too long now, ya hear?"

"Yes Ma'am. Listen, could I have Bill call you when he gets in?"

"Well, no...see what I was calling about wasn't strictly business."

"Yes Ma'am. Could I tell him who called?"

"No, I'll call him back. You best be careful going home now, ya hear? I wouldn't get into one of those things for all the tea in China, but you be careful."

"Yes Ma'am, good-bye."

"Bye-bye."

Once again, I cradled my head in my hands on top of the desk, trying to sooth away the last of the dull ache that remained from the afternoon's head splitter. Just as I started to relax, a pick-up truck loaded with six or seven of the local good old boys pulled-up out front--yelling, banging on the doors and blowing the horn.