Remnants of tubes formerly containing sunburn [pg 172]ointment, half-filled bottles of citronella and white shoe-dressing.
White flannel trousers, ready for the cleaners.
Snap-shots, showing Ed and Mollie on the beach in their bathing suits.
Snap-shots which show nothing at all.
Faded flowers, dance-cards and assorted sentimental objects, calculated to bring up tender memories of summer evenings.
Uncompleted knit-sweaters.
Then begins the tour of the neighborhood, comparing summer-vacation experiences. To each returning vacationist it seems as if everyone in town must be interested in what he or she did during the summer. They stop perfect strangers on the streets and say: "Well, a week ago today at this time we were all walking up to the Post-Office for the mail. Right out in front of the Post-Office were the fish-houses and you ought to have seen Billy one night leading a lobster home on a string. That was the night we all went swimming by moon-light."
"Yeah?" says the stranger, and pushes his way past.
Then two people get together who have been to different places. Neither wants to hear about the other's summer—and neither does. Both talk at [pg 173]once and pull snap-shots out of their pockets.
"Here's where we used to take our lunch—"