This was very nearly the history of many days. It does not take long to get acquainted with people who are willing, especially at a watering-place; and in the course of a few weeks, these young folks were, to all intents and purposes, old friends,—calling each other by their given names, and conducting themselves with an easy familiarity quite charming to behold. Their amusements were mostly in common now. The light wagons were made to hold two each, instead of one, and the matinal snipe escaped death, and was happy over his early worm.
One day, however, Laura Thurston had a headache, and Hattie Chapman stayed at home to take care of her; so Burnham and Salisbury had to amuse themselves alone. They took their boat, and idled about the water, inside the point, dozing under an awning, smoking, gaping, and wishing that headaches were out of fashion, while the taciturn and tarry skipper instructed the dignified and urbane Thomas in the science of trolling for blue-fish.
At length Ned tossed his cigar-end overboard, and braced himself for an effort.
"I say, Charley," said he, "this sort of thing can't go on forever, you know. I've been thinking, lately."
"Phenomenon!" replied Charley; "and what have you been thinking about?"
"Those girls. We've got to choose."
"Why? Isn't it well enough as it is?"
"Yes,—so far. But I think, aw, that we don't quite do them justice. They're grands partis, you see. I hate to see clever girls wasting themselves on society, waiting and waiting,—and we fellows swimming about just like fish round a hook that isn't baited properly."
Charley raised himself upon his elbow.
"You don't mean to tell me, Ned, that you have matrimonial intentions?"