"They do," I said; "in order to permit the double-headers. And now that
daylight saving is to go into effect, equinoxes won't be necessary any
more. Very likely the pan-Russian Soviets, or President Wilson, or
somebody, will abolish them."

"June 21 is the longest day in the year, isn't it?"

"The day before pay-day is always the longest day."

"And the night the cook goes out is always the longest night," she
retorted, catching the spirit of the game.

"Some day," I threatened her, "the earth will stop rotating on its
orbit, or its axis, or whatever it is, and then we will be like the
moon, divided into two hostile hemispheres, one perpetual day and the
other eternal night."

She did not seem alarmed. "Yes, and I bet I know which one you'll
emigrate to," she said. "But how about the equinoctial gales? Why should
there be gales just then?"

I had forgot about the equinoctial gales, and this caught me unawares.

"That was an old tradition of the Phoenician mariners," I said, "but the
invention of latitude and longitude made them unnecessary. They have
fallen into disrepute. Dead reckoning killed them."

"And the precession of the equinoxes?" she asked, turning back to her
magazine.