The Ides of March, as I like to call the month, were upon us. Once in a while the sun peered through the heavy clouds, sliding its pale beams between their tumbling banks to reach the soggy earth. Then came a night of rain, of heavy wind and thrashing trees; a faint rumbling of thunder over the sea and the mountains. I woke up and lay listening to the water as it dripped on the balcony while Pat, in troubled sleep, muttered and moved beside me. I woke again to a bright, cloudless sky, a perfect spring day.
After the routine checking of our animals and cultures, Dr. Hallam called a halt.
"Pat, you're tired," he said. "I think you're going stale."
"I'm slowed to a walk. It must be spring fever."
"It's spring all right," I said. "Look at that beautiful sunshine. It's time to shuck off the long woollies and take a big dose of sulphur and molasses."
"What a horrible thought," Pat grimaced, "Did you ever taste it?"
"I sure did," I said. "My mother was the old-fashioned castor-oil-is-good-for-you type. She thought I needed a tonic to get the sap running every spring."
"The sap can run again ... right out to Stanley Park," Hallam grinned, "and take Pat with you. She needs a rest and some fresh air. I'm going to play golf. We'll start again tomorrow."
We had reached a lull in our experiments. It was the obvious time for a break.