The Open Arms was to make a specialty of wet days.  Those were the days, those consecutive days of downpour that came in the winter and lasted without interruption for a fortnight at a time, when visitors in the hotels were bored beyond expression and ready to welcome anything that could distract them for an hour from the dripping of the rain on the windows.  Bridge was their one solace, and they played it from after breakfast till bedtime; but on the fourth or fifth day of doing this, just the mere steady sitting became grievous to them.  They ached with weariness.  They wilted with boredom.  All their natural kindness got damped out of them, and they were cross.  Even when they won they were cross, and when they lost it was really distressing.  They wouldn’t, of course, have been in California at all at such a time if it were possible to know beforehand when the rains would begin, but one never did know, and often it was glorious weather right up to and beyond Christmas.  And then how glorious!  What a golden place of light and warmth to be in, while in the East one’s friends were being battered by blizzards.

Mr. Twist intended to provide a break in the day each afternoon for these victims of the rain.  He would come to their rescue.  He made up his mind, clear and firm on such matters, that it should become the habit of these unhappy people during the bad weather to motor out to The Open Arms for tea; and, full of forethought, he had had a covered way made, by which one could get out of a car and into the house without being touched by a drop of rain, and he had had a huge open fireplace made across the end of the tea-room, which would crackle and blaze a welcome that would cheer the most dispirited arrival.  The cakes, at all times wonderful were on wet days to be more than wonderful.  Li Koo had a secret receipt, given him, he said, by his mother for cakes of a quite peculiar and original charm, and these were to be reserved for the rainy season only, and be made its specialty.  They were to become known and endeared to the public under the brief designation of Wet Day Cakes.  Mr. Twist felt there was something thoroughly American about this name—­plain and business-like, and attractively in contrast to the subtle, the almost immoral exquisiteness of the article itself.  This cake had been one of those produced by Li Koo from the folds of his garments the day in Los Angeles, and Mr. Twist had happened to be the one of his party who ate it.  He therefore knew what he was doing when he decided to call it and its like simply Wet Day Cakes.

The twins found him experimenting with a fire in the fireplace so as to be sure it didn’t smoke, and the architect and he were in their shirt sleeves, deftly manipulating wood shavings and logs.  There was such a hammering being made by the workmen fixing in the latticed windows, and such a crackling being made by the logs Mr. Twist and the architect kept on throwing on the fire, that only from the sudden broad smile on the architect’s face as he turned to pick up another log did Mr. Twist realize that something that hadn’t to do with work was happening behind his back.