"Of course," she said, surprised. "Why not? Things have quieted down. They have time for a reasonable request from an important local business proprietor." He looked at her sharply, but there was no expression on her face. For the first time it occurred to Dick McCue that here was a woman, not so very smart, not so very young, capable of being wrong, capable of having foolish hopes. She thought she was still an important local business proprietor. A ramshackle summer hotel. They folded by the hundreds, year after year; it didn't take a flood to put them out of business. The flood was only the mercy bullet through the blindfold, after the man was down. Polly was awake. She said, "Mrs. Goudeket, it's nice of you to offer to take us in, but--" "But?" repeated Mrs. Goudeket. "What but?" Polly Chesbro said, "I don't want to leave Mr. Starkman." Mrs. Goudeket snapped angrily, "He's your father, maybe? A whole hospital they bring in on trucks to take care of him, and you can't trust the doctors to fix him up? So stay, Mrs. Chesbro! Hang around the old man some more, make a fool out of yourself. But I have to get to work!" She glared furiously at the other woman, trembling with anger. Polly Chesbro was wiser than she; Polly felt the anger, and knew it was directed not at herself but at something inside the old lady. Polly said perceptively, "Don't worry, Mrs. Goudeket. Everything always works out." The old lady was crying. Dick McCue stared in wonder as Polly Chesbro put her arms around the woman and protected her from the harsh surrounding world. After a moment Mrs. Goudeket pushed herself away, sniffing. "You have a Kleenex?" she inquired, embarrassed. "I don't know what got into me, Polly. Please, you have to excuse--" "There's nothing to excuse," said Polly Chesbro. "We're all worn out." "No, not worn out. Tired, yes. Sick, maybe." Mrs. Goudeket wiped her streaming nose and said dismally, "Ever since Sam died it's slave, slave, slave. You know what Sam said? Every year. 'Next year we go to the Holy Land, why not?' And always I found a reason. So we kept on with the hotel, and it killed him." She patted Polly's arm absently. "Worn out is from a summer with the guests complaining about the food and changing their rooms. From something like this flood you only get tired." * * * * * Mrs. Goudeket pulled herself together after a while. Polly left her, and then came back. "Mr. Starkman's wife is with him," she reported. "I suppose I might as well go with you, Mrs. Goudeket--if the offer's still open." "Open? Of course it's still open. And Mr. Starkman?" "Much better. They think he'll be all right now." Polly Chesbro's expression was grave and joyous. They'd pulled the old man through; and Bess Starkman had been more than grateful for Polly's help to her husband. Polly said, "Let's get the others." "Others?" Mrs. Goudeket demanded suspiciously. "Mr. Groff and Arthur--and Miss Froman."