ad
come to dislike him personally; old jokes about him were brought out and
oiled and given a trial spin down the road a piece before appearing in
funny columns and vaudeville skits, and the sporting writers, frenzied
by the task of filling their space with nothing but tables of batting
averages, had become positively libellous.

And now summer was at hand, and with it the promise of the sun. The
Weather Man nibbled at his thumb nail. The clock on the wall said 11:15.

"It just couldn't go back on us now," he said, plaintively, "when it
means so much to us. It always _has_ come on the 21st."

There was not much that I could say. I didn't want to hold out any false
hope, for I am a child in arms in matters of astronomy, or whatever it
is that makes weather.

"I often remember hearing my father tell," I ventured, "how every year
on the 21st of June summer always used to come, rain or shine, until
they came to look for it on that date, and to count from then as the
beginning of the season. It seems as if"--

"I know," he interrupted, "but there have been so many upsetting things
during the past twelve months. We can't check up this year by any other
years. All we can do is wait and see."

A gust of wind from Jersey ran along the side of the building, shaking
at the windows. The Weather Man shuddered, and looked out of the corner
of his eye at the anemometer-register which stood on a table in the
middle of the room. It indicated whatever anemometers do indicate when
they want to register bad news. I considerately looked out at the
window.

"You've no idea," he said at last, in a low voice, "of how this last
rainy spell has affected my home life. For the first two or three days,
although I got dark looks from slight acquaintances, there was always a
cheery welcome waiting for me when I got home, and the Little Woman
would say, 'Never mind, Ray, it will soon be pleasant, and we all know
that it's not your fault, anyway.'

"But then, after a week had passed and there had been nothing but rain
and showers and rain, I began to notice a change. When I would swing in
at the gate she would meet me and say, in a far-away voice, 'Well, what
is it for to-morrow?' And I would have to say 'Probably cloudy, with
occasional showers and light easterly gales.' At which she would turn
away and bite her lip, and once I thought I saw her eye-lashes wet.

"Then, one night, the break came. It had started out to be a perfect
day, just