Evening star. [volume] (Washington, D.C.) 1854-1972, 1907-08-10
SEASHORE CUT-UPS

| the man WITH the pcellH8 AuSiaA pCit. ANo
getting away from the cut-ups, no matter
| where you 60 And the surf-bathing cut
ups never introduce any new stuff That's
the deuce Of 1t. If there were any variety
orversatilityin the bathing pests it mightn't
be SO bad. but they're the same old giddy-
gay leases and hoydens year after year,
and that's what climbs on the nerves.
| The happy. heart-free cubs. who run
| foot races on the sand when you're sitting
| there for example. You've got right to
| sit there you know, after you've dug your
| four bits for your bathing suit and tipped
| the man in charge Of the bathing aisle
! where you dress But the clips who do the
foot-race thing right over you don't see It.
! The beach Is theirs. They've got the n
parian rights.
You're stretched out the sand. you
see. face up. before going into the water,
| so as to give the sun full crack at your
| countenance in order that you may get
| your moneys worth of tan whereWith 10
| make EN- envious when you get back home
YOU'RE sprawled out there, say, wonder
| ing whether that girl you met in the sun
| par.or that morning meant 1t all or was
just kidding you. when the three or four
| shaggy-haired hay-hawers of twenty or so,
| lying close to you, telling each other how
| they've got all the girls on earth faded
| to a cash-in. begin to become restless
THE hunch to get up and start some
thing hits EN- all at the same instant.
They get up and begin to scuffie around In
rassling way for a little while, coming
| within an eighth of an inch of stepping
| on you very often with their anything but
| artistic-looking pedals. and in the progress
| Of their scuffling they shed enough SAND
| into your eyes, before you can get to a SIT.
| ting posture, to mix couple of barrels or
plaster. They keep right on haw having
all the time and shedding smore sand on
mouth and eyes, but they're the engaging.
| winsome clipsies. aren't they, and who
| would put damper on their cute cut-uppi-
ness, hey? Well, I should say not.
'sWearying Of scuffling. they begin to run
| up and down the shelving strand. The
shelving strand is just cluttered up with
| folks who've coughed their four bits apiece
| for the privilege of sitting or lying there
| in peace and comfort. but that doesn't dis
pei the effervescence of the hoydentsh
haw -hawers spirits so that you could OBJ
serve it. Should exclaim not. They just
hop over us. that's what. We're in the
way. so they hop. skip and jump right
over Us, the glad creatures. stalking US to
some more of that moulting sand.
Becoming some net-up by the running.
the clpsies decided to have little OF the
cooling water. They remain in the wet for
about two minutes, enough to thoroughly
saturate their bathing suits. and then. In
spired with a renewed desire to run and
romp. the cunnin' devils. why, they just
| emerge from the big drink again and be-
| gin to shed water on you. You come out
| of your little trance. imagining that ten
| or fifteen Newfoundland dogs have begun
| to shake their hides free of salt water
| right alongside Of you. and you only find
out your mistake when you glance up and
| see the three or four haw-hawers mixing
| IT up in the scuffiing thing right by you
again, and tossing about a gallon and a
half of secondhand water. In driblets and
drops with each and every scuf.
you sit UP Suddenly, and maybe little
peevishly. and begin to bale some Of that
| No. salt water out of your eyes, and
thew doing this apd-aro thew
sorry? Why, no. Alcwyn, they are not
sorry-not little bit. They Just stand
there and laugh and laugh and laugh. the
cuteSies, because, such Is the amiable OBJ
| liqueness with which the haw-hawer's mind
views things. they think it Is just the fun
niest ever. so they do, to spray and scatter
| the water from their bathing suits around
| on folks who haven't yet gone into the sea,
and they just can't help but larf the
blessed birds!
After they go away from you-they
rarely bother you for more than an hour
and half at stretch. that's one good
thing about them-the dear little tow-head-
ed. four-year-old boy in the one-pece bath
ing suit who Is In bathing with his father
and mother snoops along your way to add
to your bathing entertainment. He's got
the loveliest little red shovel with him,
and his method of contributing to your
diversion is to sneak up while you re lying
back again and invoking the SUMS tanning
aid and to pour shovelfu Of the sand
ID,
sore, but when you see that the sand
pourer is the dearest little darling towhead
ever. and that he Is jes' laffing and CLAN
ping his hands with gee because he has de-
posted In your wicks three pounds of sure
enough sea sand thatll remain there till the
end Of your days-why, when you see all
this, and that besides, his smiling papa
ana mamma. In their bathing suits. are right
behind him and tickled most to death them
selves over their little ones keen sense of
humor--1n these beautiful family crcum-
stances, l say. you Immediately cool out
uh-huh. maybe-and then it's your cue If
you're there with the knowledge of cues to
call the little darling over to you and to
| remark SOS his people can hear you that
ne mas the prettiest eyes and hair you ever
saw IN all your Dawn days, he sure has
You get hunk with that dear little tow
headed creature presently, however How?
Oh. his papa takes him In bathing. His
papa Is the clip himsef. you see. and all
clips just love to terrify children and to
shunt them almost to the verge Of the big
divide from sheer fear Now, in ordinary
circumstances. you really don't like the
family who packs the screeching kidlet
Oft into the deep water. out where the
big rollers are. and then souses the young
one in the combers. getting keeled over
force OF the incoming wave, and picking
himself and the trampled and half
drowned young 'un out of deadly dangers
way merely by the skin Of his teeth. You
cut-up who thus sews the seeds of q
lifelong fear Of the water in the bosom
Of his offspring. But somehow or an
other you just can't get yourself all
worked up over the conduct of the dad of
that darling little towhead who's enjoyed
himself previously in stalking you to
sort Of an eye-bath Of sand. Nope YOU
just can't Fact is. you just sit up there
on the thronged strand. and when you see
the clip take the lovely little cutey with
the moss-agate lamps into the boiling
surge and get him covered up with two
or three thousand tons Of raging water.
you sort o say to yourself that, while
you'd love to feel sorry for the kiddy,
| deed you would. you just can't, and YOU
really feel quite elated over the fact that
the towhead is getting his'n. so you do.
Another kind Of perennial surf-bathing
! romp Is the boy who. when you are getting
into the sea somewhat gingerly and In the
way you like to get in, because the waters
cold and you hate the sudden shock Of
coming into contact with cold water takes
1T for granted that you're an old 'fraid-cat
so you are and he doesn't consider it right.
SO he doesn't. for you to get into the
water so gradually and timidly like, after
he himself has plunged right in, y'see, and
so, viewing the matter in that way of his
why. what else should he do but just toss
water all your still unwet torso?
Nothing. Nothing at all. So that's what
he does-just scoops the water up by push
ing his palm along rfa Of tho