“My wife is here,” said the Deacon; and he jerked his head in the direction of a fat and comely personage, clothed in continual gray, who was placidly knitting at the table beside them. It seemed a pity to rout her up to bow; but it had to be done, for Charlie was introduced, and she rose portentously:
“Delighted to make your acquaintance, Mr. Townley,” said she, when Tamms had mentioned him. “Father, where are the girls?”
“You’ll find my da’ters down on the beach, I guess,” said the Deacon, thus prompted.
“I came to tell you a little about that Starbuck stock, you know,” began Tamms; but the Deacon sprang up hastily again, as if this were no place for tidings of moment. “Let’s walk along the beach and find my da’ters,” said he, “and then you can both come up to the house to dinner,” and he led the way back to the pier-head, and then down the stairs to the lower story, where the bathing-houses were. Here the floor was less occupied; possibly because the continual passing and repassing of persons in bathing-dresses and bare feet made it uncomfortably damp and sandy. Charlie looked over the rail, and saw the beach beneath, where it was shaded by the pavilion, crowded with men and women in every conceivable variety of attitude. Many couples had scooped out hollows for themselves, where they wallowed with the sands heaped about them; others lay back to back, a huge umbrella stuck in the sand behind them, the girl usually reading aloud, the young man smoking. Many still wore their bathing-dresses, though the folds of cloth were now quite dry and it was evident that they had worn them through the morning. One pretty girl was lying with her bare feet and ankles drying in the sun and her long hair spread out upon the sand; a young man sat beside her, in a striped sleeveless jersey and tights, smoking a cigarette. Charlie could not but think of cows upon a summer’s day, standing knee-deep in the pool, as he saw these varied groups in age and dress and sex all grovelling in the delicious coolness of the wet sea-sand.
“We have got to default upon the Terminal bonds, you know,” were the first words Charlie heard spoken.
“No!” said Mr. Remington, open-mouthed. And he stood staring at Tamms, his long arms hanging limply to his broadcloth coat-tails.
“Yes,” said Tamms; “I came down to tell you. The thing isn’t known yet, you know.”
Charlie fancied that a shade of color returned to the Deacon’s cheek at this announcement. “Dear me!” said he. “But I thought——”
“Come back to the hotel, Remington; we can’t talk here,” said Tamms, who had some difficulty in picking his way among the outstretched arms and limbs and heads of hair, many of whose owners had closed their eyes, and the way being further complicated by the gambols of playing children, and the wetness of others, in wading to their waists.
“Certainly,” said the Deacon, half turning about. “And of course you’ll have dinner with us. Only I wanted this young man to meet my girls. Why, here comes Sadie now.” And indeed a brown-haired damsel of some twenty summers, just emerged from the sea, was running swiftly toward him. “Sadie, this is Mr. Tamms, and Mr.—Mr. Townley,” and the trio bowed at a respectable distance, for Miss Remington was still extremely wet. “Sadie’ll show you the shortest way back,” said Mr. Remington, “and I’ll go back and get the mother.” Sadie gave a toss to her mane of hair, which scorned any oiled cap, as if to indicate her readiness; and led the way up the soft banks of sand to the street and its plank-walks.