"And what do you think that dream signifies?" I asked, wondering if she could still be blind to the meaning of her dreams. "According to Eimo, it means I must beware of a train accident," she said absently. "But that isn't what--I mean--" "Something has happened," I broke into her confusion. "Tell me about it." "Well . . ." Miss Nestleburt looked around to be sure there were no eavesdroppers. She leaned her plump little body partially across the desk. "Mr. Hawkins has proposed!" She clasped her tiny white hands in joyous anticipation of my reaction. "No!" I exclaimed. "When? How did he lead up to it? Are you going to accept him?" "Je ne sais pas! It was last night. I--I really don't know if I will or not. Do you think I should?" "Why, of course! That is, if you love him. And," I added, remembering the transparent dreams to which she had applied such painstakingly roundabout interpretations, "I'm sure you do." "Yes, I'm sure, too," she admitted. "It's just--" "Just what?" Her laughter tinkled uneasily through the office. "Well, it would look so funny, wouldn't it, if he should come to the wedding wearing just red flannel underwear?" The word "sudden" must have been coined to describe Banning's rainfall. One moment, it isn't raining; the next moment, the ocean itself seems to be streaming down from a sky that's not only weeping, as the poets have it, but actually howling with despair. Lightning etches a crazy brilliant pattern across the path of the rain, and thunder rumbles through San Gorgonio Pass. It's awe-inspiring and very beautiful--except for the fact that when it rains, the wind-driven water is beaten through the cracks under the doors of the cabins, making a big puddle on each carpet, and unless the windows happened to be shut when the onslought began, the beds and bathrooms are soaked within three minutes. Before I understood the character of these abrupt downpours, I stood about on one occasion enjoying idly the few drops that spattered down in warning. It was early in the day; most of the cabins were unoccupied, and I had left all the windows of those cabins wide open that morning to give the cabins an extra-special airing out. An extra-special watering out was what they got, though. About the time it dawned upon me that it was really going to rain hard, it did. I grabbed my pass key out of the office drawer, not awakening Grant, who was sleeping soundly after a long night of pulling customers in. I dashed out into the downpour and hurried along the slippery walk to cabin 2, next to ours, where I yanked the windows shut. The bed in the second bedroom of that cabin was a little damp already.