"My dear sir," said Pete, who had risen to his feet, "we are not in the movies. We are not here for fame or for profit. We do not occupy your beach either in the interests of art or health. We are merely here as the result of a contingency, a hazard of fortune, a mischance of fate."
"Well, go away."
The young man stepped down on the beach and approached for a closer view.
Pete turned and whispered to Mary:
"Shall we steal his beautiful clothes and divide 'em up?"
"Hush!" she said.
The owner of the white flannels, which Pete was coveting with envious eyes, studied Mary until she began to blush.
"We do not wish to have this kind of a display on our private waterfront," he remarked. "You must leave at once."
Mary sprang up, her gray eyes dangerous.