SUBTERFUGE

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YOU CAN "SMELL" A NEW TRACTOR COMING two or three years ahead. The first thing a wife notices is that the thrill—of the old tractor, that is—is gone. He no longer fondles the fenders, caresses the hood. No more does he run in the face of a storm to get 'er under cover. A crumpled muffler may leap into the wind for months on end. The vinyl seat splits and he seems not to notice. Foam oozes from the rupture and is carelessly obscured beneath a feed bag. Gone is the pride that once moved him to slyly detour visitors through the tractor shed. It doesn't seem very important anymore who drives the old thing—the wife even gets a crack at it.

"Give you any trouble?" he'll ask casually at lunch. Then, as he chomps down on a cob of corn he'll move into phase two of the buildup: innuendo and suggestion.

"Been startin' a little hard lately. Thought maybe you'd notice a little rough, don't you think?" You can agree or disagree. The psycholog-cal markup is in progress. The seeds of disturbances have been sown..

"D' ja notice how much oil that tractor's been burning?" he'll say to his son one day, making sue you're within earshot Then early some morning he'll interrupt his bookkeeping by walking into We kitchen (ostensibly for something to eat) and remarking, "Guess how much we spent for repads on the 706 last year?" And ben he'll go on to name a figure half again as high as the household budget.

"What?" you shriek." On that new tractor?"

"That new tractor is ten years old."

"You're kidding."

"I am not kidding. We bought it the year the willow tree fell on the outhouse. Remember? I'll tell you how long we've had that tractor. We've had it so long it's paid for."