At the
end of the third day he started for Barnegat. The
air was bad in the city, he said to himself, and everybody
he met was uninteresting. He would go back,
hitch up the grays, and he and Lucy have a spin
down the beach. Sea air always did agree with him,
and he was a fool to leave it.
Lucy met him at the station in answer to his telegram
sent over from Warehold. She was dressed
in her very best: a double-breasted jacket and straw
turban, a gossamer veil wound about it. Her cheeks
were like two red peonies and her eyes bright as
diamonds. She was perched up in the driver's seat
of the drag, and handled the reins and whip with
the skill of a turfman. This time Bones, the tiger,
did not spring into his perch as they whirled from
the station in the direction of the beach. His company
was not wanted.
They talked of Max's trip, of the mortgage, and
of Morton; of how hot it was in town and how cool
it was on her portico; of Mrs. Coates and of pater-
familias Coates, who held a mortgage on Beach
Haven; of the dance the night before--Max leading
in the conversation and she answering either in mono-
syllables or not at all, until Max hazarded the statement
that he had been bored to death waiting for
Morton, who never put in an appearance, and
that the only human being, male or female, he had
seen in town outside the members of the club, was
Sue.
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