"The ocean," she says, "must be down at the end o' that avenue, where most everybody seems to be headed."
"Havin' went to our room and back twice, I don't feel like another five-mile hike," I says.
"It ain't no five miles," she says; "but let's ride, anyway."
"Come on," says I, pointin' to a street-car that was standin' in the middle o' the avenue.
"Oh, no," she says. "I've watched and found out that the real people takes them funny-lookin' wheel chairs."
I was wonderin' what she meant when one o' them pretty near run over us. It was part bicycle, part go-cart and part African. In the one we dodged they was room for one passenger, but some o' them carried two.
"I wonder what they'd soak us for the trip," I says.
"Not more'n a dime, I don't believe," says the Missus.
But when we'd hired one and been w'isked down under the palms and past the golf field to the bath-house, we was obliged to part with fifty cents legal and tender.
"I feel much refreshed," I says. "I believe when it comes time to go back I'll be able to walk."