"I'll speak to the manager of General Motors about moving the Los Angeles factory to Banning," he said.
It was hot, but there was a cooling wind all afternoon, and when we went to bed it was so chilly that it felt good to snuggle under the blankets. The children were asleep in their bed, and we lay there and talked--or, rather, I did.
"How much do you suppose a motel like this is worth?"
"Uh . . . uh . . . mm h'm."
"Let's see, they have fourteen cabins," I went on. "I counted them. The owners live in one, so that leaves thirteen to rent. There are eight other cabins that seem to be as big as this one, with two rooms, and they must get six and a half dollars a night for them, like they do for this one. And then those four cabins in the back; they seem to be smaller, just one room and one bed, probably, but they must bring in at least three or four dollars a night. Why, this place must earn about seventy dollars a night! Why, that's over two thousand a month!"
"Uh."
"And what wouldn't I do with two thousand dollars a month," I went on reverently.
Grant, it seemed was more than half awake, after all. "I don't know what you wouldn't do," he said, "but I know what you would do. You'd quick go to some junk shop and buy three earrings. You'd come home with half a pair of scissors, or one giant size bronze shoe tree."
"Seriously, though," I said, "Why don't we buy a motel--this very one, maybe? It would pay for itself in a few years, and then--"
"Uh. Mm h'm."