“I tell you,” said Mr. Prenwood, laughing again, as they sat at a table in the hotel dining-room, “those dry lunches are well enough to start in with. But to finish up on!—Waiter! ask these boys what they wish,—and boys! see that you wish everything nice on the bill!”
While they were eating their unpacked lunch and many good things brought by the waiter, Mr. Prenwood told them some of his adventures in the days of wet-plate photography. “You boys must come over and visit me sometime. I haven’t told you yet that I live on the other side of the river—at Stonyshore. I’ve got dogs, horses, boats,—everything but boys. I’ve half a mind to steal one of you!”
When they were shaking hands and saying good-by to Mr. Prenwood, he told them not to forget to come and see him, and he saw in their faces that they were very glad they had met him.
“Wasn’t he nice!” exclaimed McConnell, when they had walked away.
“I think we ought to send him over some prints,” said Allan.
“I believe I will,” said Owen, “if I get anything good.”
Later in the day they saw Mr. Prenwood sitting on a bench, smoking, near one of the merry-go-rounds.
Immediately after their luncheon the boys went down on the beach and walked the whole length from Brighton to the far West End. The strollers, the children wading in the foam, the sleeping figures in the sand; the chair men wrangling over the price of seats; the chowder boats and ring-toss tents; the bathing-houses, and screaming bathers in the surf; the groups at the photograph galleries,—these and a score of other sights gave the boys amusement and an embarrassment of themes for their cameras.
Then they went over to the chutes and found it more exciting to try and photograph the flying boat than they had found it to ride in one. Allan wished to catch the boat just as it left the incline and struck the water. When he had developed his plate he found that the spray hid the boat.
