Farther north the drama was more obvious. Trapped and dying, Felicia lay over Hudson Bay and Ungava. She was not strong enough to break over the high mountains of Greenland; north and south, areas of high pressure blocked her off. But Cornelia had made the crossing of the Rockies, and now, rejuvenated on the Alberta plain, was ready to sweep south, moving again with the speed of a young storm. And beyond, dominating all the north, was the piled-up menace of the polar air. Behind Cornelia’s cold front this mass could rush south across the plains with no mountain range anywhere to check it. What sort of conflict might arise between Maria and the polar air?

He studied the map intently a moment, and decided what was likeliest. The great outflow from the north would deflect Maria from the usual course into the Gulf of Alaska; she would come on due east, smash the Pacific High, and let go her rain along the whole length of California.

“Golly, Chief,” he burst out. “It’s rain in forty-eight hours, plenty of it.”

“Hn-n?” said the Chief, looking up.

The J. M. was embarrassed, interrupting with such childishness: “I’m sorry, Chief. I guess I’m excited.”

“Well, why not? You haven’t seen as many storms come across that map as I have.” Then there was a miracle, for the Chief relaxed a moment from his work. “But don’t go throwing out any forty-eight-hour guesses. Storms are hussies, in this part of the world anyway. I’ve known a lot of them—storms, I mean. You can’t trust ’em twelve hours out of your sight.” And he went on with his work.

The J. M., the Chief was thinking privately, was something of a whippersnapper, but might have the makings of a good weather-man. Enthusiasm was proper in a youngster, and a forecaster needed imagination—not too much, but some. Rain in forty-eight hours would be his forecast too, if he had to make one that far ahead. Just the same, there were two possibilities which would prevent rain. The Alberta storm might not go south, but go east following that other storm which was hanging around over Hudson Bay; the polar air would follow, and the advancing Pacific storm move against the Alaskan coast as usual. Or the polar air, on the other hand, might sweep southward so violently that it joined with the Pacific High; then the advancing storm would be blocked a thousand miles to the west, and California would have only dry cold winds from the northeast.

In any case the next twenty-four hours offered no problem, and with confidence he began typing off a no-change forecast. Then Whitey shoved a telephone at him.

“You better take this, Chief—sounds bad!”

“Hn-n?” said the Chief, and then he heard someone plenty excited talking over the line.

“Weather Bureau, hello! Hello there! Weather Bureau, Weather—”

“Chief Forecaster speaking.”