Mrs. Goudeket sat down without waiting to be asked; those stairs were getting steeper every day. "Sharon, honey," she wheezed, "I want you to do me a favor. Frankly, I'm a little worried."
Sharon listened with minimal courtesy. Unbelievable, she thought to herself, now the old harpy expected her to go driving out in this crazy rain to find out if it was really raining. So suppose she got into Hebertown, what could she find out? The lines were down? They knew that. And what else could there conceivably be?
Since it was a point of principle, she knew what she had to say. "I'm sorry, Mrs. Goudeket," she said gently. "It just isn't my job." Besides, the season was practically over; so let Old Bat-Ears fire her.
"Aw, Sharon," wheedled Mrs. Goudeket. "Who else have I got? Believe me, it's not for me, it's for all of us. Suppose—"
"No."
"No!" shrilled Mrs. Goudeket. "I feed you the whole summer, for what? One little thing I want you to do, and what do I get? Listen here, young lady, I'm telling you for the last time—" It went on for ten minutes, during which Mrs. Goudeket quite forgot to worry about the storm.
She was still breathing hard when she appeared at the door of the Game Room and signaled imperiously to Dick McCue.
"You got to drive me into Hebertown," she ordered.
"But Mrs. Goudeket!" He nodded back at the room, where a couple of sullen guests were doggedly putting golf balls into a tumbler. "I got a contest going. Dave said I had to help out; he said—"
"This is more important," Mrs. Goudeket said firmly. "You think I like going myself? God knows what the guests will think, so don't tell them. Let them look."