There had never been enough for a winter cruise; Mrs. Goudeket had efficiently seen to that. First things first. A new roof before a winter cruise to visit Palestine, new pine paneling in the recreation room, things you could lay your hand on. And Goudeket's Green Acres grew. Because of _her_. But she had been kind and reasonable. She had let him send a hundred dollars a year for planting orange groves. She had never argued when he talked about retiring some day and going to Palestine--he always called it that, even after it was Israel--to _live_. She could have argued; she could have told him plenty. That this is America, that here you don't retire and doze in the sun, here you drive hard and get big. * * * * * Dave Wax came half-trotting through the dim rooms looking for her. He started to call to her, changed his mind and came close before he half-whispered. "It's the telephone, Mrs. Goudeket. It's working again!" "Ah!" she exclaimed. "Why are you keeping it a secret? It's good news, let's tell everybody--they can use a little good news. You see--" She turned to the nearest couple--"they've fixed the telephone lines already. I bet they'll have the electricity on in ten minutes, you wait and see. Did you call up, Dave?" "Call who, Mrs. Goudeket?" "The electric company, Dave!" He shook his head. "Go call them! No, wait--better I'll call them myself." Let him talk to the guests a while, she told herself grimly. Perhaps when the lights were on again and things were back in their normal swing she would want to talk to her guests again. Or perhaps, she thought, hurrying across the dark and deserted entrance lobby, she would go up in her room and lock the door and pull the covers over her head, as she wanted to about once an hour from May through September of every year since Mr. Goudeket died. The phone was working all right, but it wasn't working well. Mrs. Goudeket got the Hebertown operator and asked for the number of the power company's repair service, but there was so long a wait after that, filled with scratchings and squeals on the wire, that she began to think something had gone wrong. She pulled out the jack and tried again on another line. All it took was waiting, it turned out. While she waited Mrs. Goudeket had plenty of time to think of the meaning of the long wait to get connected with the repair service. Not that that was any surprise, actually, because she had been through storms before in the majestic Shawanganunks; but always before it had been maybe a quick, violent thunderstorm coming up after a hot spell, and it was a lark for the guests because it was a change, or maybe a violent autumn storm when only a handful remained. But here were a hundred and sixty-five who had been penned in the hotel for days already and.... "Hello, hello?" She tried to hear the scratchy voice at the other end. "Can you hear me? This is Mrs. S. Goudeket, from Goudeket's Green Acres."