"We certainly wouldn't trade with them," I said; and I realized that I really meant it. Perhaps the Peacock had done a better business during the slack season; after all, though, it was an older motel than ours, with a greater number of regular customers. And the imposing external appearance of the place, with its white surrounding walls and its paved driveways, was something we could match, in time, if we were willing to go to the expense. We were talking over cups of hot chocolate at Moe's. Our cabins were full, and Grandma was staying with the children. Grant and I had gone to the restaurant for a hot drink, and a few minutes later Godwins had come in. Mr. Godwin sat down, shivering, beside Grant, at the circular counter of shining ebony, and they were quickly absorbed in a conversation which dripped with such phrases as "cylinder head," "transmission," and "propeller shaft." Grant mentioned that he needed a new gasket. "A little yellow gasket?" I put in frivolously. "Yes, it's the nicest motel we've stayed in," Mrs. Godwin, sitting beside me, went on. "Me, though, I'm not crazy about your heaters." "Why--don't you like wall heaters?" I asked, surprised. "Wall heaters are all right," she conceded. "You mean you prefer electric heaters to gas?" "No, gas is all right. Maybe I should say it's the cold weather I'm not crazy about. It made us stand too close to the heater. My husband scorched the seat of his pants tonight, and that wasn't enough to warn me, I had to go and do practically the same thing. I had a satin slip--y'know how they shrivel up if you try to iron them with your iron too hot? Well, I was standing close to the heater, with my back to it, when all of a sudden it felt like there was something crawling up my--well, my back. It was my slip, shrivelling all up short because I was so close to the heat. You should see it now--it looks like it was made out of crinkly crepe, with accordion pleats!" She paused, aghast, and stared across me at Grant. The waitress had just brought him the tuna sandwich he had ordered, and he was lifting the top slice of bread and spooning sugar lavishly onto the tuna. Her plump face looked shocked, but she glanced quickly away and began to talk politely about Palm Springs. "Er--this sun time, y'know, that they have in Palm Springs--it's confusing, isn't it? Me, I think it should be the same time everywhere." "It does seem silly for one little town to have its own time," I said.