Part 6 (1/2)

”Sh--said she again, looking at him with a good deal of emphasis in her eyes.

”Well, it is too bad, isn't it?” acquiesced he, in a much lower voice, and one from which every vestige of the tone of protest had vanished.

”It _is_ too bad that these summer cottages are built so close together that you can't tie your shoes without being overheard by the folks next door? It makes me nervous. I feel as if I had to sit up straight all the time and smile like a crocodile, or else run the risk of being misunderstood.”

”It _is_ trying, dear,” she said, ”and destroys a good deal of the comfort and ease of one's outing.”

”Nothing of the kind,” began he, so explosively as to make my wife jump.

”Sh--,” whispered the lady next door, but he went on.

”Nothing of the kind. I don't let it bother me in the least. They can attend to their own affairs, and I----”

”Sh--,” said his wife; ”suppose we walk down to the beach.” She began to adjust her wrap.

”It is a good deal more comfortable here,” he protested, ”and besides I'm tired.”

”So you are, of course,” she said, regretfully. ”I forgot. Such unusual work for a man would tire him;” and she loosened the lace veil she had drawn over her head and reseated herself.

”Well, are you ready?” questioned he, clapping on his hat and suddenly starting down the steps.

”Ready for what?” asked she, in surprise.

”The deuce, Margaret. I thought you said that you were going to the beach!”

She got up, readjusted her veil, took her wrap on her arm, and ran lightly after him.

”I wonder if I shall need this wrap?” she said as she pa.s.sed our gate.

”Heavens! no,” he replied, ”and it will heat you all up to carry it.

Here, give it to me. I don't see what on earth you brought it for. I'm certainly hot enough without loading me up with this.”

”I will carry it,” she said, cheerfully; ”I don't feel the heat on my arm as you do--or I'll run back and leave it on the porch. You walk slowly. I can easily catch up.”

She started; but he took the shawl from her, threw it lightly over his shoulder, and, pulling her hand through his arm, said gayly, and in the most compliant tone: ”It isn't very warm. I won't notice this little thing and, besides, you'll need it down there, as like as not.”

When they were out of hearing my wife drew a long breath and said: ”I wonder if we ever sound like that to other people?--and yet, they seem to be devoted to each other,” she added hastily.

”They are, no doubt,” said I, ”only he appears to be a chronic kicker.”

”A comic what?” said my wife, in so loud a tone that I involuntarily exclaimed ”Sh--!”

We both laughed. Then she said: ”But really, dear, I didn't understand what you said he was. There doesn't seem to me to be anything comic about him, though. And----”

”Comic! Well, I should think not,” said I. ”I should think it would be anything but comic to that little woman to go through that sort of thing every time she opened her mouth. What I said was that he seems to be a chronic kicker, and I might add--with some show of fairness--that he impresses me as the champion of Kicktown at that.”

”Sh--,” laughed my wife, ”they're coming back.”

”I don't agree with you at all. There is no need to do anything of the kind,” were the first words we heard from a somewhat distant couple, and my wife concluded that our new neighbors were not very far off. ”It would be no end of trouble for you. You'd get all tired out; and besides, what do we owe to the Joneses that makes it necessary for you to disturb all our little comforts to ask them down here?” he continued.

We could not hear her reply; but his protest and evident deep dissatisfaction with the whole scheme went bravely on.