"Why, we thought we'd go into the water. We both took a Turkish bath out there on that Transgressor's Boulevard that we're trying to turn into a tennis court. It's high tide, and Madge says there's a beach down here where we can get a ducking when the water's high. That's the trouble with this place. It's so jagged and deep, only a submarine could go bathing here at low tide. Why?" added Whitcomb. "Did you want me for anything?"
"No. What should I want you for? Get out."
"All right. You'll be coming with us in a little while. So long. We're watching the time and we'll be on hand for dinner. Mackerel, the fair Luella told me. I can hardly wait."
King gazed after his friend as the latter ran across the grass and disappeared within their tent. He closed his eyes, and opening them in a few minutes at a sound, found beside him a figure in a long black cloak, with a dark face beneath a red bathing-cap. Miss Lindsay was smiling down at him.
"We're going for a dip, Mr. King. I wish you could come."
"Pardon my not rising," said the invalid.
"It's such fun to have somebody to play with. I'm so glad you brought Fred here. I was getting so bored."
"That's a consoling way of putting it," remarked King. "It's a proud moment when I am spoken of as taking anybody anywhere."
"Oh, you'll be out of that hammock in a week. Do you like the banjo, Mr. King?"
"I hate it," he replied distinctly; then seeing the dark face fall, "but not more than I do everything."