Half an hour later he was once more on his way to the hotel with a note from me for Daphne's maid, and the promise of half a sovereign, while the Mermaid and I stood at the top of the path which led down to the cove where the rest of my party were chafing in exasperated idleness—with the exception of Berry, that is. Prior to our arrival, he had been hovering about on the top of the cliff, but the instant he descried us, and while we were yet a great way off, he had retired precipitately, and was now busy rejoining the others with Agag's walk and a profusion of embryo profanity. He explained afterwards that if he had been wearing his own bathing-dress, instead of a green and red striped one—his own was being mended—he should have remained, but that he did not like to be seen wearing the colours of the Redruth Rangers before he had been elected.
After waiting a minute or two to compose ourselves and settle finally our plan of action, we followed gaily in Berry's wake.
I was just saying in a clear voice that, perhaps, it was rather soon after lunch to bathe again, when we came upon them the other side of a large rock. One and all they sprawled easily on the sand in the hot sunshine, as if care were a thing of the past—forgotten, never known.
This was no more than I had expected of them. All of us hate to be caught bending. Berry especially. That artist was busily fashioning a miniature rampart of sand. He looked up at my greeting, and rose to his feet.
I introduced them all to the Mermaid.
"We made friends at lunch," I explained, "over the lobsters."
Jonah winced.
"And then, as we wanted a walk, we thought we'd come along to fetch you back to tea."
There was a polite murmur of appreciation.
"I must say," I went on, "it is glorious. I almost wish I'd given up my lunch, too."