ith the
skill of a turfman. This time Bones, the tiger, did not spring into his
perch as they whirled from the station in the direction of the beach.
His company was not wanted.

They talked of Max's trip, of the mortgage, and of Morton; of how hot
it was in town and how cool it was on her portico; of Mrs. Coates and
of pater-familias Coates, who held a mortgage on Beach Haven; of the
dance the night before--Max leading in the conversation and she
answering either in mono-syllables or not at all, until Max hazarded
the statement that he had been bored to death waiting for Morton, who
never put in an appearance, and that the only human being, male or
female, he had seen in town outside the members of the club, was Sue.

They had arrived off the Life-Saving Station now, and Archie had called
the captain to the door, and both stood looking at them, the boy waving
his hand and the captain following them with his eyes. Had either of
them caught the captain's remark they, perhaps, would have drawn rein
and asked for an explanation:

"Gay lookin' hose-carriage, ain't it? Looks as if they was runnin' to a
fire!"

But they didn't hear it; would not, probably have heard it, had the
captain shouted it in their ears. Lucy was intent on opening up a
subject which had lain dormant in her mind since the morning of Max's
departure, and the gentleman himself was trying to cipher out what new
"kink," as he expressed it to himself, had "got it into her head."

When they had passed the old House of Refuge Lucy drew rein and stopped
the drag where the widening circle of the incoming tide could bathe the
horses' feet. She was still uncertain as to how she would lead up to
the subject-matter without betraying her own jealousy or, more
important still, without losing her temper. This she rarely displayed,
no matter how goading the provocation. Nobody had any use for an
ill-tempered woman, not in her atmosphere; and no fly that she had ever
known had been caught by vinegar when seeking honey. There might be
vinegar-pots to be found in her larder, but they were kept behind
closed doors and sampled only when she was alone. As she sat looking
out to sea, Max's brain still at work on the problem of her unusual
mood, a schooner shifted her mainsail in the light breeze and set her
course for the inlet.

"That's the regular weekly packet," Max ventured. "She's making for
Farguson's ship-yard. She runs between Amboy and Barnegat--Captain
Ambros