The owner of the inquiring eyes walked leisurely down to the shore, where she paused to respond to the dog’s excited invitation by throwing a stick she carried for the purpose into the sea for him to retrieve. Again and again, when the collie brought back the stick and laid it before her and barked for a repetition of the game, the girl stooped with swift grace, picked up the stick, and with a free side swing of the arm flung it far into the waves.
“Damn that dog!” snapped the older man. “Why doesn’t the fool of a girl move farther on instead of making herself a nuisance?”
The younger man allowed his attention to stray from the cards and turn his gaze seaward. He watched the collie swimming through the surf, and the white figure of the girl poised against the blue, with the cool waves running up the wet sand almost to her feet, and the shimmering steamy heat vapour rising from the sands behind her, an atmospheric veil quivering between herself and him. The joyous barking of the dog as, emerging from the waves, it beshowered the girl plentifully in an attempt to shake the salt drops from its coat, was the only sound to disturb the harmony of the sea’s lazy response to the whisper of the breeze.
“I expect,” he said, leisurely shuffling the cards, “she considers her occupation more legitimate than ours. After all, I don’t see what cause you have to be nervy because a dog barks.”
As though the complaint had travelled across the dividing space and reached her ears, the girl started to walk, still throwing the stick when it was brought to her, but no longer remaining stationary to pursue this seemingly unending game. She disappeared with the dog round the curve; and fitfully, and growing fainter, the barking of the collie was borne back to their ears, till finally the sound died away in the distance, and only the thud of breaking waves, the swish of their advance, with the backward suck of their waters in retreat, broke the surrounding quiet. A great silence and a great stillness reigned.
At last the younger man threw down the cards, and lay back on his elbow, staring at the sea.
“That’s the finish,” he said presently, in controlled quiet tones. “You’ve cleaned me out.”
“There’s always the chance,” the other returned, rolling a cigarette and lighting it, “of a change in the luck. Why not make use of paper and pencil, and have another run on it?”
The loser shook his head.
“No; I’m done. You have the devil’s luck.”