There wasn't enough wind left in me to fatten a small sized
bubble.
"There he is again!" she cried in a petulant voice as I once more
appeared. "Why doesn't he go away?"
"He's just about to--for good!" said the other lady. With a pitiful
yap I struck out feebly in the general direction of the shore. It
wouldn't work. My arms refused to move. Then quite suddenly and
deliriously I felt two soft, cool arms enfold me, and my head sank
back on a delicately unholstered shoulder. Somehow it reminded me of
the old days.
"Home, James," I murmured, as I was slowly towed to shore. Just before
closing my eyes I caught a fleeting glimpse of a young lady clad in
one of the one-piecest one-piece bathing suits I had ever seen. She
was bending over me sympathetically.
"Private property!" cried my tormentor, shaking a finger at me. "What
a pity!" I thought as I closed my eyes and drifted off into sweet
dreams in which Mr. Fogerty, my beautiful rescuer, and myself were
dancing hand-and-hand on the parade ground to the music of the massed
band, much to the edification of the entire station assembled in
review formation.
Presently I awoke to the hateful strains of this old hard-shell's
voice:
"See what you've done!" she was saying to the young girl.
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