"How do you kill time, then?"
Salsbury looked puzzled.
"Aw—it is a first-rate air, you know. The table is good, and you can sleep like a top. And then, you see, I like to smoke around, and do nothing, on the sea-shore. It is real jolly to lie on the sand, aw, with all sorts of little bugs running over you, and listen to the water swashing about!"
"Let's try it!" cried vivacious Miss Chapman; and down she sat on the sand. The others followed her example, and in five minutes they were picking up pretty pebbles and chatting away as sociably as could be. The rumbling of the warning gong surprised them.
At dinner Burnham and Salsbury took seats opposite the ladies, and were honored with an introduction to papa and mamma, a very dignified, heavy, rosy, old-school couple, who ate a good deal and said very little. That evening, when flute and viol wooed the lotos-eaters to agitate the light fantastic toe, these young gentlemen found themselves in dancing humor, and revolved themselves into a grievous condition of glow and wilt in various mystic and intoxicating measures with their new-made friends.
On retiring, somewhat after midnight, Miss Thurston paused while "doing her hair," and addressed Miss Chapman.
"Did you observe, Hattie, how very handsome those gentlemen are? Mr. Burnham looks like a prince of the sang azur, and Mr. Salsbury like his poet-laureate."
"Yes, dear," responded Hattie; "I have been considering those flowers of the field and lilies of the valley."
"Ned," said Charlie, at about the same time, "we won't find anything nicer here this season, I think."
"They're pretty worth while," replied Ned, "and I'm rather pleased with them."