“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.

This was a poser, but I rallied stoutly.  “Well,” I said, “you see, there are two equinoxes a year, the vernal and the autumnal.  They are well known by coal dealers.  The first one is when he delivers the coal and the second is when he gets paid.  Two of them a year, you see, in the course of a million years or so, makes quite a majestic series.  That is why they call it a procession.”

Titania looked at me and gradually her face broke up into a charming aurora borealis of laughter.

“I don’t believe you know any more about the old things than I do,” she said.

And the worst of it is, I think she was right.

163 INNOCENT OLD MEN

I found Titania looking severely at her watch, which is a queer little gold disk about the size of a waistcoat button, swinging under her chin by a thin golden chain.  Titania’s methods of winding, setting and regulating that watch have always been a mystery to me.  She frequently knows what the right time is, but how she deduces it from the data given by the hands of her timepiece I can’t guess.  It’s something like this:  She looks at the watch and notes what it says.  Then she deducts ten minutes, because she remembers it is ten minutes fast.  Then she performs some complicated calculation connected with when the baby had his bath, and how long ago she heard the church bells chime; to this result she adds five minutes to allow for leeway.  Then she goes to the phone and asks Central the time.

“Hullo,” I said; “what’s wrong?”

“I’m wondering about this daylight-saving business,” she said.  “You know, I think it’s all a piece of Bolshevik propaganda to get us confused and encourage anarchy.  All the women in Marathon are talking about it and neglecting their knitting.  Junior’s bath was half an hour late today because Mrs. Benvenuto called me up to talk about daylight saving.  She says her cook has threatened to leave if she has to get up an hour earlier in the morning.  I was just wondering how to adjust my watch to the new conditions.”