With professional courtesy the old man said nothing more during the taking of observations. But he watched carefully. The young man read temperatures on the maximum and minimum thermometers, and gave the former a spin for resetting. Then he dipped the wet-bulb thermometer in a can of water, spun the handle vigorously, read the result, spun again, then once more, and recorded wet and dry temperatures. Next he observed the star-covered sky for clouds, “None,” and visibility, “Unlimited.” He made his notations and turned to go.

“Have you taken wind direction and velocity, sir?” said the old man.

“They’re recorded automatically downstairs.”

“Oh, yes. I had forgotten.” Then the old man made a little snorting noise. “You youngsters—pretty soon you’ll make up a forecast without even going outdoors! In my day a weather-man had to be good. Now, with all your instruments and reports coming in by wireless, anybody can do it. In my day, we used to say, you read the barometer, and stuck your head out the window, and then made a forecast. You had to be good, sir, to do that.”

“You think so, eh!”

They moved back toward the stairway. The old man was ahead; the young man was impatient, but he could not shove past among the skylights and ventilators.

“We are going to have rain,” said the old man.

“Well, Grandpa, I’m sorry to disappoint you, but that’s impossible with the present air-mass situation—for several days anyway.”

“Air-mass poppycock! I don’t need any square-head Scandihoovian telling me about my own weather. Why, in those days we didn’t get reports from west of the Mississippi half the time. We had some stations—Fort Benton, and Corinne, and so forth—but the Sioux were still on the warpath, and I guess they cut the wires. Yes, you had to be good, then. We were quite a crowd in the old Signal Service days. ‘The duties of this office,’ our Chief used to say—‘permit little rest’—yes—‘little rest and less hesitation.’”

Both were silent a moment, and the old man’s next remark was startling for lack of connection.

“The New York papers had editorials.”

“What!”

“Yes, I remember the Herald distinctly; the editor commended our work. Of course it really was a good deal colder than we expected. Some of the West Point cadets were frost-bitten quite badly.”

“Oh, you mean the forecast for Grant’s inauguration? I’ve heard that one before, thanks.”

As they came to the stairway, the young man moved ahead and went rapidly down.

The old man descended slowly. He went on through the chart-room and along the corridor. He was almost sure that he had forgotten something. Also he felt a little hurt and confused. The young man had seemed almost disrespectful to him. Sometime he must take up this air-mass matter; he wasn’t sure that he really understood it, and these strange three-dimensional storms.