"And of course, we're too young," grumbled Isabel. "I just wonder if the water is the same day as night. Come on, let's wade."
This was the signal for wading preparations. In a sheltered corner under the board walk, the girls divested themselves of their shoes and stockings, scampered back to the edge and encountered knee deep waves or wavelets.
"Wading is really decorous in the dark," boomed Elizabeth. "It's lots more fun than even bathing in daylight."
"But not as good as swimming," replied Louise, who had just allowed her pretty pink scarf-sash to come in contact with the ruinous salt water.
At the sound of the nine-thirty gong—it was the village fire alarm that always sounded the hour—the scouts as well as the other merrymakers hurried to dress. True, they had but to don stockings and pumps, but the beach crowds scattered so quickly, it was necessary to hurry, or run the risk of being alone with the crabs.
"Where did you put the things?" Cleo called to Grace. "I don't see them here."
"Left them exactly against the third post from the steps, coming toward the shoe black stand," Grace indicated.
"That would be all right on an income tax blank," sang out Cleo, after a fruitless search, "but it does not betray the boots. They're not here."
"Oh lands, hurry!" begged Elizabeth. "We shall be all alone with Davy Jones or Mr. McGinty or whoever it is who janities the ocean by night. Let's all look."
No need for this proposal for all were looking; they needed pumps and stockings, but none could be found.