If the rule is true that women are the worst gossips, Grant must be the
exception that proves that rule. He can outtalk any woman; he has more
endurance, more lung power, and far more enthusiasm, when it comes to a
prolonged conversation on any subject, than any avid old lady, or any
young girl draped about a telephone. This habit of his annoys me,
partly because he usually indulges it just when I have some work for
him to do, and partly because I am jealous of his ability to get along
well with everyone. I have such a shy nature that I am seldom able to
get past the polite amenities with anyone whom I have known less than
three years ... a great disadvantage for anyone as extremely
inquisitive and curious as I.
Being so talkative, and so unable to end a conversation, Grant is easy
prey for salesmen. That is, although he seldom buys what they are
trying to sell, he lets them waste hours of his time.
When Grant finally got rid of the vacuum cleaner salesman, I went in to
get the baby. The conversation about vacuum cleaners had awakened her.
It wasn't, I realized, the last time that noises from the office, so
close to her bed, would awaken her.
I fixed dinner, clumsy in a new, differently arranged kitchen. While I
washed dishes, Grant dried them, and there followed an uneasy evening
during which we both pretended to read, but actually sat straining to
hear above the children's voices the sound of a car driving into our
driveway.
The sun was sinking, and the mountains were clothed in soft shadows. I
stood looking out the kitchen window, which faced the darkened east,
and I saw the neon sign of the second motel from us turned on. It was a
big, impressive sign, with the name of the motel--the Peacock--in
bright red letters, and a green "vacancy" sign above it. There was the
likeness of a huge, stately, graceful peacock above the name of the
motel, blazoned in bright blue and red neon.
"Our sign!" I exclaimed suddenly. "It's time to turn it on!"
Grant had thought of it the same instant I had, and, like greedy
children with a new toy, we rushed to the dark office. The light
switches--five of them--were side by side in a neat and very confusing
little row on the wall behind the desk.