About half of the hotels and apartment houses had "no vacancy" signs. If the accommodations were this nearly taken on the opening day, visitors would have a hard time finding a place to stay in Palm Springs a little later in the season. Besides, a night in a Palm Springs hotel would probably cost as much as a week at a motel in Banning. It looked as though Palm Springs would have a good season; and that would mean a good season for Banning. The overflow from Palm Springs, plus the usual number of winter tourists coming to California from the east, should mean a few thousand dollars extra knocked off our mortgage. We crossed the busy street and paused in front of the window of a dress shop. There were wax models almost hidden under cascades of ruffles, models buried in layers of pleats and fluff. I had never seen such fancy clothes. There were elaborate dresses for tiny girls, and the prices calmly jotted on little tags attached to each were staggering. One little slip, for a girl of about three, was valued at nineteen dollars. The prices of the other garments were in proportion. "Gee whittaker, I never see anything like it!" Grandma said, her small black eyes bright with amazement. "It's most a wonder it don't cost nothing to breathe here!" "Don't worry, they'll give you the bill for that when you leave, they will all right!" We turned around. There, behind us, stood a small, birdlike old man. "This is Palm Springs," he chirped. "Nothin's free, not nothin', it ain't." His lips closed tightly beneath his little beak of a nose, and he regarded us as curiously as we were looking at him. "Have you been here long?" I asked finally, not being able to think of anything else to say. "I've been here all day, I have," he stated. He resumed his scrutiny of Grandma, apparently pleased with her short, stocky figure. "You ain't gonna stay here, be you?" Grandma asked him. "Not here, I ain't, not for nothin'. I'm going back to Los Angeles tonight, I am, all right. Where you from?" he asked, indicating Grandma with a quick nod of his little head. "I live in L.A. too," Grandma said, adding modestly, "I'm a fancy presser. I'm going back in a day or two." The man seemed to be lost in thought. "If everything wasn't so expensive here, I'd buy you a meal, I would all right. But I'll tell you what. Give me your address, and I'll buy you a dinner next week in Los Angeles." Grandma gasped and looked at me, half thrilled and half dismayed. "Good Godfrey Mighty," she murmured. "Go ahead," I whispered, knowing what she was worrying about. "Hellwig won't have to know anything about it." "He'd be madder'n a wet hen," she hissed back. "Well," chirped the old man, "does that sound all right to you? It does to me, all right." Grandma said, "Ayah," feebly, and wrote her name and address on a piece of paper he handed her.