Bill lent his ladder to the man next door for a Saturday repair. Three weeks later he needed it back. He could see it through his neighbor’s shed window, but every time he asked, his neighbor Paul said he was about to finish the gutters.
Bill’s wife suggested asking directly. Bill said he had asked directly six times. She said “Have you finished with the ladder?” sounded to Paul like an invitation to discuss the gutters.
On Monday Bill asked, “Can I take my ladder home today?” Paul said of course, as soon as he found the rubber foot that had come loose. Bill offered to take it without the foot. Paul said that would be unsafe. Bill bought a replacement foot at the hardware store. When he returned, Paul was away.
By Friday Paul had replaced both feet, painted one rung, and attached a hook so it would hang neatly in the shed. Bill no longer recognized it from a distance. Paul explained that he wanted to return it in better condition than he had borrowed it. Bill said he had never asked for improvements; he needed to clear leaves from his own roof.
Paul offered to come over and help. Bill reluctantly accepted. They carried the ladder across the hedge. Paul set it against the house and announced the ladder felt unstable. He fetched a leveling block, then a spirit level, then his son to hold the bottom. Bill watched the daylight disappear.
His wife came out with tea. She asked why four people were guarding a ladder while the leaves remained on the roof. Paul said safety came first. She agreed, took a small broom, and swept the leaves from the porch roof while standing on the ground. That was the roof Bill meant. The ladder was for reaching a box of Christmas decorations in the attic afterward.
Paul looked at his son. His son looked at Bill. Bill said he’d been trying to explain for twenty minutes, but Paul had kept discussing roof angles.
They put the ladder in the attic. Paul’s son climbed up and passed down the decorations. At the back of the attic he found a second ladder, identical to the first but dusty.
Bill stared at it. He had forgotten he’d bought a spare after lending the first one to Paul the previous spring. The ladder in Paul’s shed had already been there for more than a year. The three-week loan was the second loan.
Paul crossed his arms. “So which one did I borrow?”
Paul had even drafted an instruction card for the repaired ladder, explaining how to lock the hinges and where not to place it. Bill read it aloud while Paul’s son held the base. The card was sensible, but Paul had drawn six diagrams for a ladder with only two moving parts. Bill’s wife pinned it to the attic door, saying at least it would remind them where the ladder belonged. Paul asked whether they wanted a second copy. All three said no at exactly the same time.
Bill admitted he didn’t know. Paul inspected the painted rung and identified his handiwork. He carried that ladder back to his shed.
Bill’s wife said, “At least we have one now.”
“Yes,” said Bill. “And next year, when he asks to borrow it, I’ll tell him he already has one.”
Paul called across the hedge. “Can I borrow the box of decorations instead?”
Bill closed the attic hatch.