_Snow in summer is of course impossible. Any weather expert will
tell you so. Weather Bureau Chief Botts was certain no such
absurdity could occur. And he would have been right except for one
thing. It snowed that summer._
It was, as the expression goes, raining cats and dogs. Since the Weather
Bureau had predicted fair and warmer, the Weather Bureau was not
particularly happy about the meteorological state of affairs. No one,
however was shocked.
Until it started to snow.
This was on the twenty-fifth of July in the U.S.A....
Half an hour before the fantastic meteorological turn of events, Bureau
Chief Botts dangled the forecast sheet before Johnny Sloman's bloodshot
eyes and barked, "It's all over the country by now, you dunderhead!"
Then, as an afterthought: "Did you write this?"
"Yes," said Sloman miserably.
Slowly, Botts said, "Temperature, eighty degrees. Precipitation
expected: snow. _Snow_, Sloman. Well, that's what it says."
"It was a mistake, Chief. Just--heh-heh--a mistake."
"The prediction should have been for fair and warmer!" Botts screamed.
"But it's raining," Sloman pointed out.
"We make mistakes," said Botts in a suddenly velvety voice. Then, as if
_that_ had been a mistake, bellowed: "But not this kind of mistake,
Sloman! Snow in July! We have a reputation to maintain! If not for
accuracy, at least for credulity."
"Yes, sir," said Johnny Sloman. One of the troubles was, he had a
hangover. Although, actually, that was a consequence of the real
trouble. The real trouble was his fiancee. Make that his ex-fiancee.
Because last night Jo-Anne had left him. "You--you're just going no
place at all, Johnny Sloman," she had said. "You're on a treadmill
and--not even running very fast." She had given him back the
quarter-carat ring tearfully, but Johnny hadn't argued. Jo-Anne had a
stubborn streak and he knew when Jo-Anne's mind was made up. So Johnny
had gone and gotten drunk for the first time since the night after
college graduation, not too many years ago, and the result was a
nationally-distributed forecast of snow.
Chief Botts' first flush of anger had now been replaced by self-pity.
His red, loose-jowled face was sagging and his eyes became watery as he
said, "At least you could have double-checked it. As a member of this
Bureau you only have to fill out the forecast once every ten days. Is
that so hard? Is there any reason why you should predict snow for July
25th?" His voice became silky soft as he added, "You realize, of course,
Sloman, that if this was anything but a civil service job you'd be out
on your ear for a stunt like this! Well, there are other ways. I can
pass over you for promotion. I _intend_ to pass over you until the
crack of doom. You'll be a GS-5 the rest of your working life. Are you
satisfied, Sloman? Snow in July ..." Chief Botts' voice trailed off, the
Chief following it.
Johnny sat with his head in his hands until Harry Bettis, the GS-5
weatherman who shared his small office with him, came in. Naturally,
hangover or no, Johnny had reported for work first. Johnny was always
first in the office, but it didn't seem to do any good. Now, Harry
Bettis could come in an hour late and read the funnies half the day and
flirt with the secretarial staff the other half and still be Chief
Botts' odds-on favorite for the promotion that was opening next month.
Harry Bettis was like that.
He came in and gave Johnny the full treatment. First the slow spreading
smile. Then the chuckle. Then the loud, roaring belly-laugh. "Gals
outside told me!" he shouted, loud enough so the girls outside would
know he knew they had told him. "Snow! Snow in July! Sloman, you kill
me! You really do!"
"Do you have to shout?" Johnny said.
"Do I? We all ought to shout this. To the rooftops! Sloman, my foot.
You have a new name, sonny. Snowman! Johnny Snowman."
[Illustration: Thick mud held him while terror ravened at his heels.]
Johnny groaned. Instinctively, he knew the name would stick.
"Hear you had a little trouble with the gal-friend this past p.m.,"
Harry Bettis clucked in a voice which managed to be both derisive and
sympathetic.
"How did you find out?" Johnny asked, but knew the answer at once.
Jo-Anne was a roommate of one of the Bureau Secretaries. It was how
Johnny had met her.
"You know how I found out, Snowman. Well, that's tough luck, kiddo. But
tell me, does that mean the field is wide open? I always thought your
gal-friend--your _ex_-gal-friend--had the cutest pair of--"
"I have nothing to do with whether the field is open or not open, I'm
afraid."
"Well, don't be. Afraid, I mean," Harry Bettis advised jovially. "If the
gal could make you pull a boner like that, you're better off without
her. But I forgot to ask Maxine: can I have little Jo-Anne's phone
number? Huh, boy?"
Before Johnny could answer, the three-girl staff of secretaries entered
the small office. Entered--and stared.
"That's all right, girls," Harry Bettis said. "You didn't have to follow
me in here. I'd have been right out."
But they weren't staring at Harry Bettis. They were staring at Johnny.
Their mouths had flapped open, their eyes were big and round. Johnny
didn't, but Harry Bettis knew that look on a girl's face. Without any
trouble at all, Johnny could have made any of those girls, right there,
right then, without even trying.
They gawked and gawked. One of them pointed at the window. The others
tried to, but their hands were trembling.