“Then let’s go there. I want to see San Francisco anyway.”
“All right. We’ll go there.”
“Now let’s go up the mountain. Should we? Can we get the M.O.B.?”
“There’s a train a little after five.”
“Let’s get that.”
“All right. I’ll drink one more beer first.”
When we went out to go up the street and climb the stairs to the station it was very cold. A cold wind was coming down the Rhone Valley. There were lights in the shop windows and we climbed the steep stone stairway to the upper street, then up another stairs to the station. The electric train was there waiting, all the lights on. There was a dial that showed when it left. The clock hands pointed to ten minutes after five. I looked at the station clock. It was five minutes after. As we got on board I saw the motorman and conductor coming out of the station wine-shop. We sat down and opened the window. The train was electrically heated and stuffy but fresh cold air came in through the window.
“Are you tired, Cat?” I asked.
“No. I feel splendid.”
“It isn’t a long ride.”
“I like the ride,” she said. “Don’t worry about me, darling. I feel fine.”
Snow did not come until three days before Christmas. We woke one morning and it was snowing. We stayed in bed with the fire roaring in the stove and watched the snow fall. Mrs. Guttingen took away the breakfast trays and put more wood in the stove. It was a big snow storm. She said it had started about midnight. I went to the window
