"My Goodness, John, you Northerners are always in a hurry," she gasped. "You almost mashed me flat." "Ah caint see no difference honey," I parodied her Alabama drawl. "Say, Harry tells me something big is happening." "It surely is," she said, "I've taken more pictures in the last two weeks than in the six months before that. I took a whole mess of them to Dr. Hallam this morning." "Maybe I'd better go find out for myself. See you later, cutie." As I went by I gave her a friendly pat on her well rounded posterior and got the back of my head clipped for my temerity. "You keep your cotton-pickin' hands to yourself, boy," she said, but she was smiling. * * * * * The time was late autumn. Because of a special project, I hadn't been able to take my summer vacation. Patricia Delaney, our senior virology technician, had worked with me and, as the days went by, it looked as if neither of us would get a break. The fall is the season for respiratory viruses to start causing trouble and we couldn't afford to take time off if even a minor outbreak appeared. But the weather stayed dry and finally, one lovely Indian summer day, Dr. Hallam had shoved us both out of the office for ten days' rest. I stopped on the front steps of the Lab and looked at Pat, standing beside me, her brown curly head, topped by one of the new round space satellite hats, bent over as she fumbled at her handbag. "Now what do we do?" I felt at a loss, a little tired and let down. I hadn't expected to get time off and consequently had made no plans for spending the next ten days. The sun was bright, the clouds were small and fluffy, the air was warm. It was autumn at its best. Surely it would be a shame to waste such wonderful weather. Pat was speaking, her clear grey eyes thoughtful behind the heavy-rimmed glasses. The soft Louisiana voice was a treat after the harder northern accents of the Canadians. "I don't know. I haven't made plans to do anything." "Well then, let's go have some coffee and talk it over." She nodded and fell into step beside me, her long legs, long for her medium height that is, keeping up with my short ones. In her high heeled shoes she stood as tall as I, her broad shoulders and slim but prettily rounded figure contrasting nicely with my stocky frame. We make a good pair, I thought, she, the American of Irish descent and I, the immigrant Irishman, educated in Canada and naturalized American during the Korean War. She had come to British Columbia just a year ago, when her marriage had broken up, to make a fresh start. The year before that I had returned to Canada to join the staff of the Civic Hospital as a pathologist. We crossed the parking area to the main hospital building and went into the restaurant through the back entrance.