h we were racing south had its rail head at Barnegat Bay. And
between Barnegat and Red Bank there now was but one other inlet, that
of the Manasquan River. It might be Barnegat; it might be Manasquan.
It could not be a great distance from either; toward the ocean down a
broad, sandy road. The season had passed and the windows of the cottages
and bungalows on either side of the road were barricaded with planks.
On the verandas hammocks abandoned to the winds hung in tatters, on the
back porches the doors of empty refrigerators swung open on one hinge,
and on every side above the fields of gorgeous golden-rod rose signs
reading "For Rent." When we had progressed in silence for a mile, the
sandy avenue lost itself in the deeper sand of the beach, and the horse
of his own will came to a halt.

On one side we were surrounded by locked and deserted bathing houses,
on the other by empty pavilions shuttered and barred against the winter,
but still inviting one to "Try our salt water taffy" or to "Keep cool
with an ice-cream soda." Rupert turned and looked inquiringly at Edgar.
To the north the beach stretched in an unbroken line to Manasquan Inlet.
To the south three miles away we could see floating on the horizon-like
a mirage the hotels and summer cottages of Bay Head.

"Drive toward the inlet," directed Edgar. "This gentleman and I will
walk."

Relieved of our weight, the horse stumbled bravely into the trackless
sand, while below on the damper and firmer shingle we walked by the edge
of the water.

The tide was coming in and the spent waves, spreading before them an
advance guard of tiny shells and pebbles, threatened our boots' and
at the same time in soothing, lazy whispers warned us of their attack.
These lisping murmurs and the crash and roar of each incoming wave as
it broke were the only sounds. And on the beach we were the only human
figures. At last the scene began to bear some resemblance to one set for
an adventure. The rolling ocean, a coast steamer dragging a great column
of black smoke, and cast high upon the beach the wreck of a schooner,
her masts tilting drunkenly, gave color to our purpose. It became filled
with greater promise of drama, more picturesque. I began to thrill with
excitement. I regarded Edgar appealingly, in eager supplication. At last
he broke the silence that was torturing me.

"We will now walk higher up," he commanded. "If we get our feet wet, we
may take cold."

My spirit was too f