comments upon
the balloonist's figure. "Beautiful legs, she has!"

"That's so," Hedger whispered. "Not many girls would look well in that
position." Then, for some reason, he blushed a slow, dark, painful
crimson.

The balloon descended slowly, a little way from the tent, and the
red-faced man in the linen suit caught Molly Welch before her feet
touched the ground, and pulled her to one side. The band struck up "Blue
Bell" by way of welcome, and one of the sweaty pages ran forward and
presented the balloonist with a large bouquet of artificial flowers. She
smiled and thanked him, and ran back across the sand to the tent.

"Can't we go inside and see her?" Eden asked. "You can explain to the
door man. I want to meet her." Edging forward, she herself addressed the
man in the linen suit and slipped something from her purse into his hand.

They found Molly seated before a trunk that had a mirror in the lid and a
"make-up" outfit spread upon the tray. She was wiping the cold cream and
powder from her neck with a discarded chemise.

"Hello, Don," she said cordially. "Brought a friend?"

Eden liked her. She had an easy, friendly manner, and there was something
boyish and devil-may-care about her.

"Yes, it's fun. I'm mad about it," she said in reply to Eden's questions.
"I always want to let go, when I come down on the bar. You don't feel
your weight at all, as you would on a stationary trapeze."

The big drum boomed outside, and the publicity man began shouting to
newly arrived boatloads. Miss Welch took a last pull at her cigarette.
"Now you'll have to get out, Don. I change for the next act. This time I
go up in a black evening dress, and lose the skirt in the basket before I
start down."

"Yes, go along," said Eden. "Wait for me outside the door. I'll stay and
help her dress."

Hedger waited and waited, while women of every build bumped into him and
begged his pardon, and the red pages ran about holding out their caps for
coins, and the people ate and perspired and shifted parasols against the
sun. When the band began to play a two-step, all the bathers ran up out
of the surf to watch the ascent. The second balloon bumped and rose, and
the crowd began shouting to the girl in a black evening dress who stood
leaning against the ropes and smiling. "It's a new girl," they called.
"It ain't the Countess this time. You're a peach, girlie!"

The balloonist acknowledged these compliments, bowing and looking down
over