KIPPY RETIRES WITH HIS SCALP

CAME the last day. End of the summer, of summer's warmth. End of languid
siestas on drowsy beaches, end of balmy moonlight nights, moonlight
sails, moonlight picnics; end of intimate whispered half laughing, half
serious intimacies _a deux_. To-morrow separation and a man's life to
take up again! To-morrow the chill of autumn and the melancholy of
drifting leaves. The last partings to take, promises to be solemnly
exchanged--heart burnings, bottom dropped out of everything, another
milestone to be registered in the scurrying flight of Time!

Mr. Skippy Bedelle and Miss Vivi Balou separated themselves from the
unromantic middle-aged crowd around the tennis courts and made their way
up the beach to the sheltering swirls of convenient sand dunes. They
walked in silence, oppressed by the greatness of their grief, from time
to time their shoulders touched in dumb understanding.

"To-morrow!" said Skippy with a gulp in his throat.

"Don't!"

"To-morrow--gee!"

He carried a beach chair, four sofa cushions, two rugs, her work-bag, a
box of chocolates and a romance they had dipped into.

"Don't!" repeated Miss Vivi, gazing out from under her pink parasol with
stricken eyes at the unending sea.

"To-morrow afternoon at this time!"

"It's been wonderful--wonderful week."

He made a back of the chair, spread the rug and installed her
solicitously. Then he camped down not too far away, not too near, pulled
his cap over his eyes, locked his hands over his knees and stared out
toward the horizon that, somehow, attracts at such moments.

A wind that was already cold played over the frosty waves and sent
little scurries of sand twisting along the beach.

"Have a chocolate?"

"Thanks."

"Jelly or nut?"

"Nut. Thanks."

They munched in silence.

"That's the trouble with summer," said Skippy at last.

"Yes, isn't it?"

"It's rotten."

"Oh why must everything end?" said Vivi wildly.

"I can't realize that to-morrow--"

"You'll forget, men always forget."

Skippy shook his head.

"Yes. You'll write a letter or two and then heigh ho!"

"Look here, you don't mean that," said Skippy, turning on her.

Vivi's eyes dropped before his righteous indignation.

"No--no I don't mean that."

"Then don't talk that way--especially just now."

"Forgive me--Jack?"

"What?"

"You do forgive me?"

"Of course."

"You're going to do wonderful things at school," said Vivi, trying to be