As Whitey talked, Mr. Ragan stood nodding his head solemnly. But the J. M. turned back to his map, pointedly, dismissing them and the controversy.

Nevertheless, even as he put the final touches upon the unquestioning lines of his isobars, Whitey and the others seemed to stare at him from the map. They were jealous of him, he reasoned—of his training. Even the Chief must be; the Chief hardly knew enough mathematics to figure theta-e. And Whitey would never rise higher than Observer; he had tried the Civil Service examination three times and always failed the mathematical part. Mr. Ragan had been a promising youngster once—had even published an article on cyclone tracks; but he had died above the ears about 1915, and been a routine worker ever since.

Yet the J. M. was not too well pleased with himself either. He knew that he was a good meteorologist, but he wanted also to have companionship. He was in a strange city, and lonely. But he always seemed to be giving the cold shoulder to the boys in the office. He knew their nickname for him—the Baby Chief. The Chief part he liked; but the other word gave the whole nickname too ironic a tinge.

The phone rang. He answered it, and listened to the question put by a raucous female voice. He almost winced; and he grimaced as he answered. “Yes, madam,” he said, trying to maintain professional courtesy in his voice and yet make it vibrate with deepest irony. “The forecast is for fair weather; I’m sure that you will be quite safe in hanging your washing outside.”

He turned back to his map in irritation. Even if you put in an automatic telephone system to answer anyone who dialed Weather-1212, still people called up with petty questions. He wished suddenly that he had taken the air-line job when he had the chance.

Between earth and stratosphere the storms moved eastward, and he was trained to plot their courses. But he had to answer questions about hanging out the diapers—he was sure it was diapers!

He pulled open his drawer, and saw the well-worn leather case containing his slide-rule. Reflectively rubbing a finger-tip across it, he noticed that he left a track in a faint film of dust.

8

Over a large region of the ocean near the Hawaiian Islands a long calm had rested. Through a cloudless atmosphere the tropical sun beat down upon the water. The air grew warmer and warmer, and day after day absorbed moisture from the surface of the ocean. This water-vapor, even without becoming visible as cloud, was able to intercept much energy from the sun’s rays, and thus the humid air grew warm even at high levels.