“But you like to know about people and places you’ve never seen, don’t you?”
“Yes, but all the books I’ve ever seen that tell you about things like that are just like geographies. They give you a lot of things you have to remember, and there’s no fun to that.”
“You haven’t read the right sort of books, that’s all that’s the matter with you, Dolly. I tell you what—when we get back to the city, we’ll get hold of some good books, and take turns reading them aloud to one another. I think that would be good fun.”
“Well, maybe if they taught me as much as you seem to know about places you’ve never seen I wouldn’t mind reading them. Anyhow, books or no books, you’re going to love the seashore. Oh, it is such a delightful place—Plum Beach.”
“Tell me about it, Dolly.”
“Well, in the first place, it isn’t a regular seaside place at all. I mean there aren’t any hotels and boardwalks and things like that. It’s about ten miles from Bay City, and there they do have everything like that. But Plum Beach is just wild, the way it always has been. And I don’t see why, because it’s the best beach I ever saw—ever so much finer than at Bay City.”
“I’ll like the beach.”
“Yes, I know you will. And because it’s sort of wild and desolate, and off by itself that way, you can have the best time there you ever dreamed of. Last year we put on our bathing suits when we got up, and kept them on all day. You go in the water, you see, and then, if you lie down on the beach for half an hour, you’re dry. The sun shines right down on the sand, and it’s as warm as it can be.”
“I suppose that’s why you like it so much—because you don’t have the trouble of dressing and undressing.”
“It’s one reason,” said Dolly, who never pretended about anything, and was perfectly willing to admit that she was lazy. “But it’s nice to have the beach to yourselves, too, the way we do. You see, when we get there we’ll find tents all set up and ready for us.”