The customs inspector had a round smooth face which
registered the most benevolent of attitudes. He was
respectfully cordial and solicitous.
"Welcome," he murmured. "How do you like our sunshine?" He
glanced at the passport in my hand. "Beautiful morning, isn't
it?"
I proffered him my passport and stood the suitcase on the
white counter. The inspector rapidly leafed through it with his
long careful fingers. He was dressed in a white uniform with
silver buttons and silver braid on the shoulders. He laid the
passport aside and touched the suitcase with the tips of his
fingers.
"Curious," he said. "The case has not yet dried. It is
difficult to imagine that somewhere the weather can be bad."
"Yes," I said with a sigh, "we are already well into the
autumn," and opened the suitcase.
The inspector smiled sympathetically and glanced at it
absent-mindedly. "It's impossible amid our sunshine to
visualize an autumn. Thank you, that will be quite all
right.... Rain, wet roofs, wind...
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