He pointed his finger at me abruptly, popping the knuckle of his thumb. "Got ya!" he chortled, when I jumped. He started fitting the back of the radio into its proper place again. "There's a trailer camp right behind this Palm Springs motel, see, the one where I've got my radios, an' it's full of all these ritzy guys and dames, see. In the morning when they get up--an' that ain't early--you oughta see 'em, lined up to go to the bathroom. They just stand there an' talk, see, an' sometimes they get so interested in what they're sayin', that they just keep on standin' there for a long time, talkin' and talkin'." The radio man got into his car to go, after all of the money had been divided; I glanced at him, on my way back to the house, when he didn't start up his car immediately. He had a small can of oil in his hand, and, apparently assiduous and intent, he was oiling the hinges in his elbows. CHAPTER SIXTEEN I'M TOLERANT ABOUT it when men customers flirt with me, but when women customers flirt with Grant, that's different. Grant and I had been pulling weeds from around the shrubs in front of cabin 3 when a lank, stick-shaped woman appeared by the office. Grant went to talk to her, while I stayed on my knees pulling weeds and wondering what it was about the woman that disturbed me. I had seen her before, I felt sure; no doubt she had occupied one of our cabins recently. But there seemed to be something different about her now; all I could think of was that she seemed much thinner and more shapeless than she had been before. Perhaps at the moment she was simply wearing a dress that didn't flatter her. I glanced up, studying her as she talked to Grant, trying to decide whether it could be her clothing that made that annoyingly intangible difference in her. She was alternately smiling at Grant, and looking down toward her feet with apparent embarrassment; and she was making vague gestures toward her chest. I began to watch more closely. I couldn't quite hear what she was saying. The woman was definitely blushing now, laughing and pointing toward her chest. I brushed the earth from my hands, stood up, and stalked over to where they were standing. I didn't know exactly what was going on, but I felt that my presence would do no harm. ". . . you might call them eye-catchers," the woman was saying, cupping her hands at strategic points over the flatness of her dress. I tucked my arm possessively through Grant's, and stood there tapping my foot. To my surprise, the woman seemed glad to see me. "Oh, never mind, your wife will know what I mean," she said. With a dismissing sweep of her eyes she brushed Grant out of earshot. When he had gone back to his weeding she said, "It's so hard to talk to a man, isn't it? You can't call a spade a spade for fear of embarrassing them." I was still a little suspicious of her. "What was it you wanted?" I asked, my tone aloof.