Okura was fascinated by the game, unfortunately, and there was so much conversation he was rather distracted.
“I hope it does not annoy you?” I asked him.
“Oh, not at all, thank you very much. It is so democratic!”
At this point the umpire got off his perch, and came forward to entreat the fine ladies.
“I have asked you before to keep quiet,” he wailed. “For God’s sake, will you stop talking?”
“How very interesting,” murmured Okura.
“Yes,” I said, “the religious motif.”
“Ah, yes!” he nodded, very gravely.
Later on his compatriot Kumagae was to play, and we decided to return to the tournament; but first we took ourselves to Bailey’s Beach.
Bailey’s Beach is a small section of the Atlantic littoral famous for its seaweed. The seaweed is of a lovely dark red color. It is swept in in large quantities, together with stray pieces of melon-rind and other picnic remnants, and it forms a thick, juicy carpet through which one wades out to the more fluid sea. By this attractive marge sit the ladies in their wide hats and dresses of filmy lace, watching the more adventurous sex pick his way out of the vegetable matter. In the pavilion of the bathhouses sit still less adventurous groups.