There were several small bungalows grouped about one much larger one. This latter contained a large dining and living room and a kitchen big enough to supply the needs of all the families residing in the smaller buildings. It was in this large central living room that the boys had started to set up their radio apparatus when the lure of the ocean had tempted them away.
They returned none too soon, for the evening meal was ready, but, as Joe remarked, “It was no more ready than they were.” They did all the good things ample justice, and then went out on the wide veranda to rest and allow digestion to take its course.
“We ought to be able to get the set working this evening,” remarked Bob, as they sat looking out over the sand, with the boom of the surf in their ears, “provided, of course, we all feel energetic enough to tackle it.”
“Well, I’m willing to take a fling at it a little later,” said Joe. “But just at present I don’t feel strong enough even to handle a screw driver.”
“I’ll bet Jimmy’s crazy to get to work, anyway,” said Bob. “How about it, old energetic?”
But the only answer was a gentle snore from Jimmy’s direction, and everybody laughed.
“Guess that swim has tired him out,” said Joe. “Swimming in salt water always seems to leave you mighty lazy afterward.”
“You boys must be more careful when you go swimming, and not go out so far from shore,” said Mrs. Atwood, Joe’s mother. “This afternoon I was watching you from the porch, and it seemed to me you went for a dreadful distance before you started back.”
“Oh, that’s two-thirds of the fun of swimming, Mother,” said Joe. “There’s no use in puttering around close to shore. What’s the use in knowing how to swim, if you do that?”
“We keep pretty close together, anyway,” Bob added. “So if one should get tired, the others could help him in.”