They were ready for the summer vacation, and had voted to spend it at Sandy Point Cove–a resort on the Atlantic coast. It was the evening before the start, and they had gathered at Cora’s house to arrange final details.
They were to motor to the cove, taking their time, for it was no small distance from Chelton where our friends lived. The motor boat Petrel sometimes just called Pet for short, had been shipped on ahead.
I think I have already mentioned the names of the young folks. Cora generally came first, by reason of her personality. She was a splendid girl, tall and rather dark, and had somewhat of a commanding air, though she was not at all fond of her own way, and always willing to give in to others if it could be made plain that their way was best. Her mother was a wealthy widow, and there was Jack, Cora’s brother, taller than she, darker perhaps and was he handsomer? Cora had, some time before, been given a fine large touring car, and Jack owned a small runabout.
Walter Pennington was Jack’s chum, both of them attending Exmouth College, where, of late, Ed Foster had taken a post-graduate course. Ed was very fond of hunting and fishing, and considered himself quite a sportsman.
The Robinson twins were daughters of Mr. and Mrs. Perry Robinson, the father being a wealthy railroad man. He had given the girls a fine car–the Flyaway it had been christened–while Jack called his the Get There. Sometimes it did, and sometimes it didn’t. To go back to the girls. Belle, or Isabel, as she had been christened, was plump and rosy, and her sister Bess, tall, willowy and fair, her rather light hair contrasting with the brown locks of Belle.
Eline Carleton, from Chicago, a distant cousin of Cora had been invited to spend the summer with the Kimballs, and was to go to the Cove. Norton Randolf was a newcomer in town, said to be of a wealthy family. He had only lately made the acquaintance of Jack and his chums, but was rather well liked.
Chelton, as my previous readers know, was a most charming semi-country town, nestling in a bend of the Chelton River, a stream of picturesque beauty. The location was in New England, not so far from the New York line that the trip to the metropolis was a fatiguing one. The young people had often taken it on pleasure bent. And now, not to keep you any longer from the story, which I am afraid I interrupted at a rather critical point, I will merely remark, in passing, that other characters will be mentioned from time to time, some of whom have appeared in previous books.
In the excitement attending the fire, Bess was puffing on her way to the garage, carrying a pail of wet sand that she had scooped up from the driveway. She was followed by the other girls.
“Oh, see the smoke!” cried Eline. “That must be gasoline burning!”
“It is,” assented Belle. “Oh, do hurry–somebody!”