“Oh, no,” he assured her. “We have got to have the clam-bake where the clams are. Wait till you see the beach! A great place for a fire, as safe as snails. There’s the place, just beyond that rock!”
Just beyond the rock the boat drew up to the shore, a rock-strewn beach with a spit of sand below, now covered by the high tide. Hugh jumped out and held the boat for the rest to descend. “Fine!” said he. “Where are your clams, Reddy?”
Dick stood looking at the beach dubiously. “Jiminy!” he exclaimed. “I forgot about the tide! I dug the clams in the afternoon.”
“And we buried them in boxes down in the sand,” volunteered Eddie.
“So they would be happy and damp until picnic-time,” continued Freddie. “Where are they now, Dick?”
“Where indeed!” cried Dick, mournfully. “Still happy and damp, I guess.”
“There once was a boy from the West,” chanted Nancy, beginning a limerick to celebrate the affair in Club style:
“Who invited a Club as his guest,
To a clam-bake with pride;
But he left out the tide—”