“Who’s that?  Babe?” Allyn had suddenly plunged into the midst of the group.  “I hear that the caddies are talking of a boycott, charging her double fees unless she goes slow.  She plays a smashing game; but there’s no sort of sense in the way she goes about it.”

Theodora yawned.

“Babe is upsetting all my ideas,” she said languidly.  “I had always regarded golf as a suitable amusement for stout elderly persons who waddled, a good deal like the caucus race in Alice.  Babe’s vigor fairly takes my breath away.”

“Same with her swimming,” Allyn remarked, with a certain pride.  “She’s gone into it all over.”

“Into the surf?” Cicely inquired, as she scooped little mounds of sand over his feet.

“Yes, just that.  She swims under water like a fish.  There isn’t another girl here to beat her.  You are nothing but a porpoise beside her, Cis, and you swim fairly well.  Hope, I do wish you’d take lessons.  I’m tired of seeing you chug up and down beside that lifeline.”

“Do you know,” Theodora said meditatively; “I’d rather face the footlights at the Metropolitan than come down this beach at the bathing hour.  It makes me feel pigeon-toed in the extreme.”

Cicely eyed her with a calm lack of comprehension born of healthy girlhood.

“I don’t see why,” she said.

“Because you stay in the water, and can’t hear the gossip along shore,” Theodora answered.  “Just you stay out here, some morning, and sit in the Dragons’ Row, as Billy calls it, and you will find out what I mean.  Charity covers a multitude of sins; but it never drapes an awkward woman in an unbecoming bathing suit.”

“That is where Babe has the advantage,” Hubert remarked.  “She isn’t exactly graceful; but she is no more awkward than an unbroken colt.”

“And she acts a good deal like one,” Hope added, laughing.  “Still, she may get broken soon, so let’s let her go her ways in peace.  She has worked hard, the past six months, and she deserves to be allowed to take her vacation in any form she chooses.”

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

Down on the shore, Dragons’ Row was holding high carnival.  It was the bathing hour, when those who had much energy plunged through and through the breakers, those who had little floundered in the edge of the foam, and those who had none sat upright under the awnings, lorgnette in hand, and passed judgment upon their fellows.  The tall, sinewy bathing master sat on the shore, his yellow collie beside him, enjoying an interval of well-earned leisure, for at this season he was the most conspicuous and the most popular figure on Quantuck beach.  Just now, he was looking on in manifest pride at the skill of his latest pupil, Phebe McAlister.  Even Dragons’ Row fell silent, when Phebe took to the water for her noon bath.  It was good to see her free, firm step as she came down the board walk, dressed in the plain black suit