Brainard held the hand that had gripped his and gazed with speechless joy into the beaming features of "Toodles" Brown. Then the surfman grinned as he said:
"Good old Toodles! Why, I have a cottage just down the beach beyond the Point. I'm too darned exclusive to mix up with this herd of get-rich-quick millionaires and gilded loafers like your fat self."
"Living down the beach in a cottage," gasped Mr. Brown. "I've been here two seasons and I swear I know every cottager on the island. I think you're a blessed old liar. Tell me all about yourself, Ashley. You've given us all the cold shake, you know."
Brainard explained with a boyish laugh:
"Well, you know I was down here shooting through Christmas vacation of Senior year, and I got the pineapple bee in my bonnet. There were millions in it, on paper. But Dad wanted me to cuddle down at a desk in town. I stood it for a year and you remember how I cussed. Then I said, 'The glad free life under the palms for mine,'—bucked clean over the traces, and bolted. I was beginning to dream of counting my coin, when one night in January the thermometer slid three degrees too low, and, bang, what a difference in the morning! It was a case of pineapple frappé. I was almost broke, but I couldn't throw up the sponge, and last fall there was an opening at Uncle Sam's life-saving station for a strong lad used to fussing around the water. And there I am drawing my little old forty a month and proud of it, until my new crop comes in. But, oh, Toodles, I am glad to see you, and for Heaven's sake, tell me all the news about everybody! I never could write letters. And I'm a God-forsaken exile."
Chubby Mr. Brown was too agitated to think of gossip as he blurted:
"You're clean crazy, plumb dippy. Let me stake you till your ship comes in loaded with pineapples. Ash, come back with me. I'm planning a six months' cruise to the Mediterranean, and I've simply got to have you. It's sandy of you and all that, but it's silly pride to think you must bury yourself down here until you win out. Let the cunning little pineapple plants work for you while you come back where you belong. You a life-saver! It's absurd!"
"They are all better men than I in our crew," said Brainard slowly, "and it's a clean, simple, husky life, and I never was so fit. But—well, I wish I hadn't taken this day off. It hurts a little to mix up with this sort of thing. No, I can't borrow money, even from you. To-night I go back to my cot and corn-beef hash. But let's go it while the evening's young."
This suggestion made Mr. Brown brighten and take heart. After dinner they strolled on the quarter mile of piazza facing the moonlit sea, and the scent of tropical flowers hung heavy around them. "Toodles" Brown was anxious to have Brainard meet what he called "the youth and beauty of our set," but his chum asked him to walk first as far as the beach.
The pier was almost deserted, for the wind was rising and a fine spray filled the air with chilling dampness. Brainard looked at the sky with a surfman's interested scrutiny. The moon was dodging among fast-driving clouds and the surf was beginning to boom on the beach with a heavy, sullen note. He recalled the station-keeper's warning of a "norther," but dismissed it because the lonely red-roofed cottage seemed half a world away. Silent for a little while, when he spoke it was with odd and painful effort: