“Well, let’s hear what Jack has to say,” proposed Walter Pennington, bringing his head of crisp brown hair a little closer to the chestnut one of Bess. “He has made a statement, and it is now–will you permit me to say it–it is now strictly up to him to prove it. Say on, rash youth, and let us hear why it is that Belle will shy at the water.”
“It’s a riddle, perhaps,” suggested Eline Carleton, a visitor from Chicago. “I love to guess riddles! Say it again, Jack, do!”
“Why is a raindrop—” began Norton Randolf, a newcomer in Chelton. “The answer is—”
“That you can bring water to a horse, even if you can’t make him stand still without hitching,” interrupted Walter. “Go on, Jack!”
“I don’t see much use in going on, if you fellows–and I beg your collective pardons–the ladies also–are to interrupt me all the while.”
“That’s so–let’s play the game fair,” suggested Eline. “Is it a riddle, Jack? Belle is afraid of the water because–let me see–because it can’t spoil her complexion no matter whether it’s salt or fresh–is that it?” and she glanced over at the slightly pouting Belle, whose rosy complexion was often the envy of less happily endowed girls.
“I’m not afraid of the water!” declared Belle. “I don’t see why he says so, anyhow. It–it isn’t–kind.”
“Forgive me, Belle!” and Jack “slumped” from his chair to his knees before the offended one. “I do beg your pardon, but you know that ever since we proposed this auto trip to Sandy Point Cove you’ve hung back on some pretext or other. You’ve even tried to get us to consent to a land trip. But, in the language of the immortal Mr. Shakespeare, there is nothing doing. We are going to the coast.”
“Of course I’m coming, too,” said Belle. “Stop it, Jack!” she commanded, drawing her plump hand away from his brown palm. “Behave yourself! Only,” she went on, as the others ceased laughing, “only sometimes the ocean seems so–so—”
“Oceany,” supplied Walter.