"To-morrow afternoon at this time!"
"It's been wonderful—wonderful week."
He made a back of the chair, spread the rug and installed her solicitously. Then he camped down not too far away, not too near, pulled his cap over his eyes, locked his hands over his knees and stared out toward the horizon that, somehow, attracts at such moments.
A wind that was already cold played over the frosty waves and sent little scurries of sand twisting along the beach.
"Have a chocolate?"
"Thanks."
"Jelly or nut?"
"Nut. Thanks."
They munched in silence.
"That's the trouble with summer," said Skippy at last.