The boatman glanced ironically at the scarlet bound volume which bore the portrait of a pretty girl on its covers.
"Is it that book by John Smith they're sellin' so many of down to the hotel?" he inquired slowly.
"I believe it was written by one Smith," she said, turning over the volume to look. "Yes, John Smith is the author's name. No doubt he is very famous in America."
"He lives down here in winter."
"Really!" she exclaimed with considerable animation.
"Oh, yes. I take him shooting and fishing. He has a shack on the Inlet Point."
"Where?"
"Over there, where them gulls is flying."
The girl looked earnestly at the point. All she saw were snowy dunes and wild grasses and seabirds whirling.
"He writes them books over there," remarked the boatman.