But Jeannette went to sleep that night with a happy prospect for the morrow awaiting her: they were to have lunch at the fashionable yacht club.
§ 2
Disappointment lay in store for her again. At noon, the next day, perplexed by the picnic baskets and shoe-boxes of lunch with which they were laden as they left the house, she learned it was the Family Yacht Club and not the imposing Cohasset Beach Yacht Club for which they were headed. Oh, no, Mr. Gibbs explained, only the swell New Yorkers and the rich nabobs who lived down on the “Point” patronized the Cohasset Beach Yacht Club; the dues there were fifty dollars a month; the nice folk in Cohasset all belonged to the Family Yacht Club; she would see herself how pleasant it was there; the steward served hot coffee and everybody brought their own lunches. Jeannette looked straight ahead of her to hide the blur of disappointed tears that for a moment blinded her. Martin was behind with Mrs. Gibbs carrying Herbie in his arms. The resolve to try and be pleasant and make these people like her died hopelessly in the girl’s heart. Oh, it was no use! It had been dreadful from the moment they arrived; it would remain dreadful till the end!
The club-house of the Family Yacht Club was a low spreading, wind-blown, sand-battered, gray building that squatted along the shore, separated from the lisping wavelets of the Sound by a strip of white, sandy beach; a long pier ran out into the water and a number of small sail-boats and row-boats were tied to the float at its further end. The pier, the beach, the wide veranda of the club-house were all crowded to-day; flags flew or were draped everywhere, and bathers ran up and down along the wet sand or congregated on the raft anchored a hundred yards from shore.
“Whew!” exclaimed Martin when he viewed the scene, “isn’t this great!”
His wife threw him a look; it did not seem possible he was serious, but a glimpse of his delighted face showed her he was indeed.
There were no chairs nor benches on which to sit, but the newcomers found a clean space on the sandy shore and prepared to establish themselves there. Jeannette thought of her spotless new white fibre-silk skirt, and in sad resignation sank into place. About them were a dozen or so of similar groups, preparing for the midday meal or already enjoying it. They were all neighbors of the Gibbses, residents of Cohasset Beach, who knew one another intimately, and hailed each new arrival, bandying Christian names. A man some distance away shouted in the direction of the Gibbs party, brandishing a bottle of beer.
“Hey, Gibbsey,” he yelled, “hey there! How’s the old stick-in-the-mud?”
Mrs. Gibbs shrieked across the stretch of sand at the woman beside him.
“How’s the baby?”