The young ladies were overjoyed to be at the Beach. They walked on the sands and took photographs.
"Cousin Mary just loves to take photographs," Miss Smith explained. Then the girls discovered they had a call to make—would Mr. Chalmers and Mr. Gleason mind? A very dear girl friend whom they hadn't seen for a whole month was at the Beach. Would they come? No, then they would only be gone a few minutes. It was "too lovely" to have such a chance to call.
So the boys were left behind to wait impatiently. The minutes passed and then more minutes.
"And there's that blooming motor sitting there at four dollars an hour," growled the Codfish. "Three hours and fifteen minutes gone already. I'm bankrupt now and twenty-five miles to go back. I'll be entirely insolvent by the time we turn up in Norfolk."
Fifty minutes more passed and Miss Smith and Cousin Mary reappeared on the scene only to exhaust another reel of films photographing the car, the pavilion, a decrepit boat drawn up on the sands, and several sea views. "Cousin Mary is so artistic," explained Miss Smith. "You ought to see some of her sea views, they are just too sweet."
"I've enough sea views to last me the rest of my natural life," muttered the Codfish under his breath. "I'm not much for sea views at four dollars an hour."
When everything necessary and unnecessary that the girls could think of had been done, the motor was turned in the direction of Norfolk, and set off at, a leisurely pace much to the disgust of the Codfish. The longer the driver took to cover the distance, the more money he made. Time was money to him with a vengeance.
On the outskirts of Norfolk, and just as dusk was beginning to settle, the rear shoe gave way with a loud explosion.
"How long?" inquired the Codfish, laconically.
"I reckon 'bout twenty minutes," replied the driver, at which Miss Smith set up a remonstrance. "We must be home. Mother will think something dreadful has happened. The trolley is only a few blocks from here. We can't wait that long for him to fix the old tire."