Snow in summer is of course impossible. Any weather expert willtell you so. Weather Bureau Chief Botts was certain no suchabsurdity could occur. And he would have been rightexcept for one thing. It snowed that summer.
It was, as the expressiongoes, raining cats anddogs. Since the Weather Bureauhad predicted fair andwarmer, the Weather Bureauwas not particularly happyabout the meteorological stateof affairs. No one, howeverwas shocked.
Until it started to snow.
This was on the twenty-fifthof July in the U.S.A....
Half an hour before thefantastic meteorological turnof events, Bureau Chief Bottsdangled the forecast sheet beforeJohnny Sloman's bloodshoteyes and barked, "It's allover the country by now, youdunderhead!" Then, as anafterthought: "Did you writethis?"
"Yes," said Sloman miserably.
Slowly, Botts said, "Temperature,eighty degrees. Precipitationexpected: snow.Snow, Sloman. Well, that'swhat it says."
"It was a mistake, Chief.Just—heh-heh—a mistake."
"The prediction shouldhave been for fair and warmer!"Botts screamed.
"But it's raining," Slomanpointed out.
"We make mistakes," saidBotts in a suddenly velvetyvoice. Then, as if that hadbeen a mistake, bellowed:"But not this kind of mistake,Sloman! Snow in July! Wehave a reputation to maintain!If not for accuracy, atleast for credulity."
"Yes, sir," said Johnny Sloman.One of the troubles was,he had a hangover. Although,actually, that was a consequenceof the real trouble.The real trouble was hisfiancee. Make that his ex-fiancee.Because last night Jo-Annehad left him. "You—you'rejust going no place atall, Johnny Sloman," she hadsaid. "You're on a treadmilland—not even running veryfast." She had given him backthe quarter-carat ring tearfully,but Johnny hadn't argued.Jo-Anne had a stubbornstreak and he knew when Jo-Anne'smind was made up. SoJohnny had gone and gottendrunk for the first time sincethe night after college graduation,not too many years ago,and the result was a nationally-distributedforecast ofsnow.
Chief Botts' first flush ofanger had now been replacedby self-pity. His red, loose-jowledface was sagging andhis eyes became watery as hesaid, "At least you could havedouble-checked it. As a memberof this Bureau you onlyhave to fill out the forecastonce every ten days. Is that sohard? Is there any reasonwhy you should predict snowfor July 25th?" His voice becamesilky soft as he added,"You realize, of course, Sloman,that if this was anythingbut a civil service jobyou'd be out on your ear for astunt like this! Well, thereare other ways. I can passover you for promotion. I intendto pass over you untilthe crack of doom. You'll be aGS-5 the rest of your workinglife. Are you satisfied, Sloman?Snow in July ..." ChiefBotts' voice trailed off, theChief following it.
Johnny sat with his head inhis hands until Harry Bettis,the GS-5 weatherman whoshared his small office withhim, came in. Naturally,hangover or no, Johnny hadreported for work first.Johnny was always first inthe office, but it didn't seem todo any good. Now, HarryBettis could come in an hourlate and read the funnies halfthe day and flirt with the secretarialstaff the other halfand still be Chief Botts' odds-onfavorite for the promotionthat was opening next month.Harry Bettis was like that.
He came in and gaveJohnny the full treatment.First the slow spreadingsmile. Then the chuckle. Thenthe loud, roaring belly-laugh."Gals outside told me!" heshouted, loud enough so thegirls outside would know heknew