"Maybe later. Well, I relieve you."
The man passed over the night glasses and went yawning through the curtains. The air watcher wiped the drizzled lenses of the binoculars, sighed and stepped out onto the roof. He slumped into the swivel chair, tilted back in the patter of rain and watched the overcast sky with boredom. The little town's lights were bright; after a few minutes outside you could see how far they really shone. And a few minutes more and you could see the lights of the next little town, fifteen miles away, as a dim haze on the horizon. By the time his tour was over they would have gone out and everybody would be in bed, light rain comfortably pattering on their roofs.
The phone inside the shack jangled—most unusual!
He blundered in through the curtains, blinking at the naked bulb. He picked up the direct-wire phone and gave his GOC post number.
"Filter Center," said the phone. "Is your town flooded?"
"No!" he said, astounded.
"How much rain are you having?"
"Just a light drizzle. Why?"
"Thanks," Filter Center said, and hung up.
"Now what the hell—?" he gasped, standing there with the phone in his hand, not realizing that he—one of thousands—had just played his part in alleviating state-wide disaster.