TALKING OF HONESTY by ROWLEY HABIB Old Bill Evans plodded slowly up the hill to the boarding house. “I must be really getting old,” he thought. Really old—really old. The thought echoed down the passageway of his mind. It did not frighten him as one would suppose. It had come on him so slowly that he was able to adapt himself to the change. “Well a man has to grow old sometime,” he had told himself and when the thought had first begun to prod at his mind. “Anyway, I've had a good life. I can't complain. If I had my life to live over again I think I would like to do the same things again. Except perhaps for five of those years. They weren't so nice. No. I wouldn't like to live those years again. But the rest of them: yes. I wouldn't mind those years again. They were good years. Even through all the hardship. But I guess that was part of the fun of it. But God,” he was thinking now as he dragged up the last stretch to the Happards' boarding house, “I wish all these aches and pains didn't have to come with it.” He was breathing heavily from the climb. He paused to catch his breath and for the first time he noticed just how heavily he was breathing. He drew his breath in deeply and let it out noisily through his mouth. He did this several times. “Hell”, he said half aloud. He turned and looked back down the incline from where he had come. It was a long drag but the incline was very slight. “Hell”, he said again. This time in his mind. He had just finished work and was on his way back to his lodgings for tea. Old Bill worked for the Post and Telegraph as a linesman. He had