“Why?”
“It seemed so bold.”
“All right. Maybe we can get a Key all by ourselves for two weeks.”
“Wouldn't it be glorious!”
“We'll try it, anyhow. I'll buy the doggoned thing if they don't ask too much. Pack your traps. I'll go down to the shop and get my things. We'll be ready to start in an hour.”
By four o'clock they were seated in the drawing-room of a Pullman car on the Florida Limited, gazing entranced at the drab landscape of the Jersey meadows.
Three days later, Jim had landed his boat on a tiny sand reef a half-mile off the coast of Florida with a tent and complete outfit for camping. Like two romping children, they tied the boat to a stake and rushed over the sand-dunes to the beach. They explored their domain from end to end within an hour. Not a tree obscured the endless panorama of sea and bay and waving grass on the great solemn marshes. Piles of soft, warm seaweed lay in long, dark rows along the high-tide mark.
Mary selected a sand-dune almost exactly the height and shape of the one on which they sat at Long Beach the day he told her of his love.
“Here's the spot for our home!” she cried. “Don't you recognize it?”
“Can't say I've ever been here before. Oh, I got you—I got you! Long Beach—sure! What do you think of that?”