Morrow looked at it, and then at
her face. She smiled. When the Italian violin player on the boat came that
way, Morrow gave him a dollar. Alas for the loveliest girl in the world!
They passed most of that evening in a boardwalk pavilion, ostensibly
watching the sea and the crowd. They went up the thoroughfare in a catboat
the next morning, and, strange as it seemed to them, were the only people
out who caught no fish. The captain winked at his mate, who grinned.
In the afternoon, while Morrow and Clara stood on the boardwalk looking
down at the Salvation Army tent, along came that innocent eccentric
"Professor" Walters in bathing costume and with his swimming machine. The
tall, lean whiskered, loquacious "Professor" had made Morrow's acquaintance
in a former summer and now greeted him politely.
"How d'ye do?" said the "Professor." "Glad to see you here. You turn up
every year."
"You're still given to rhyming," commented Morrow.
"Yes, I have a rhyme for every time, in pleasure or sorrow. Is this Mrs.
Morrow?"
"No."
"You ought to be sorry she isn't," remarked the "Professor," taking his
departure.
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