It is coming down. I never heard it make so much noise.
That’s because city people never have a roof over their heads!
Why, mother, the rain makes your voice vibrate like—
Like a fire engine. I stood right by one, once.
Come, Harold, sit on my lap.
Shall I close the blinds?
No, don’t. Nobody’s about on a night like this.
Wish I could see rain. What it like?
What’s what like?
Like shower baths.
Oh. Mother, tell me story about rain. I like rain! (Everitt feels about for his cigar case. A letter falls from his pocket which he picks up hurriedly)
I’m going for a cigar.
It’s like being in a submarine!
Mother, tell me story!
Once upon a time—
I’m going out for a minute.
Once on a time!
Oh, yes. Once there was a little girl who lived in the country.
A country something like this. She and her mother lived in a little house beside a brook. The little girl loved to listen to the brook outside her window at night. One day she asked her mother where the brook went to. She didn’t want her brook to run away. And what do you suppose her mother said?
What her mother say?