not
colored quite so vivid.

"Folks are out airin' themselves too," he goes on.

They were. I could see three or four people movin' about on the
veranda; for we wa'n't more'n half a block away. First off I spots
Aunty. She's paradin' up and down, stiff and stately, and along with
her waddles a wide, dumpy female in pink. And next, all in white, and
lookin' as slim and graceful as an Easter lily, I makes out Vee; also a
young gent in white flannels and a striped tennis blazer. He's smokin'
a cigarette and swingin' a racket jaunty. I could even hear Vee's
laugh ripple out across the water. You remember how she put it too,
"nice, but awfully stupid." Seems she was makin' the best of it,
though.

And here I was, in Ira's baggy oilskins, my feet in six inches of oily
brine, squattin' on the edge of a smelly fish box tryin' to hold down a
piece of custard pie! No, that wa'n't exactly the rosy picture I threw
on the screen back in the Corrugated gen'ral offices only yesterday.
Nothing like that! I don't do any hoo-hooin', or wave any private
signals. I pulls the sticky sou'wester further down over my eyes and
squats lower in the boat.

"Look kind o' gay and festive, don't they?" says Eb, straightenin' up
and wipin' his hands on his corduroys.

"Who's the party in the tennis outfit?" says I.

"Him?" says Eb, gawpin' ashore. "Must be young Hollister, that owns
the mahogany speed boat. Stuck up young dude, I guess. Wall, five
more traps to haul, and we're through, Son."

"Let's go haul 'em, then," says I, grabbin' the flywheel.

Great excursion, that was! Once more on land, I sneaked soggy footed
up to the hotel and piked for my room. I shied supper and went to the
feathers early, trustin' that if I could get stretched out level with
my eyes shut things would stop wavin' and bobbin' around. That was
good dope too.

I rolled out next mornin' feelin' fine and silky; but not so cocky by
half. Somehow, I wa'n't gettin' any of the lucky breaks I'd looked for.

My total programme for the day was just to bat around Boothbay. And,
say, of all the lonesome places for city clothes and a straw lid!
Honest, I never saw so many yachty rigs in my life,--young chaps in
white ducks and sneakers and canvas shoes, girls in middie blouses, old
guys in white flannels and yachtin' caps, even old ladies dressed
sporty and comf'table--and more square feet of sunburn than would cover
Union Square. I felt like a blond Esk