Evening star. [volume] (Washington, D.C.) 1854-1972, 1922-04-16

chugged along up the bay and wound
in and around little islands. After an
| hour or SO we landed on one of the
outer keys and hurried across the
narrow strip of sand to the shore of
the Gulf of Mexico. l thought Id
seen sea beaches before. too, but this
i was the real thing. Miles and miles
of it, Is smooth as table top and
almost as hard. and so dazzling white
that it almost hurt your eyes to look.
1t was all so clean and empty, too.
| No drift wood or rubbish, no smelly
windrows of seaweed, nothing but
sand that was nearly as fine as -four
"Inez," says l, i've just got to go
wading. How about you?"
No says 1nez promptly. Might
be crabs or-or sharks
For girl of her size she's afraid
| of lot of things, so while she
camped down on the beach and glared
suspiciously at the harmless little
fiddlers, Barry and / went padding.
There's such a thrill, You know, in
walking along a deserted seashore
I'm always expecting to find a bottle
! with messag in it. or something
valuable that the waves have washed
up. But the gulf shore is lean
hunting ground for such treasures.
We did come across a few brilliantly
colored conchs and other curious
shells, and some odd coral tinted sea-
weed as fine as pink lace. and now
and then some cone-shaped sponges.
But nothing really exciting, although
| we kept on up the beach for nearly
an hour. Then we drifted back,
where the others were watching
young Capt Jim get ready, camp
] fire of dry palmetto leaves.
By this time it was nearly sunset.
! the light gulf breeze had dropped,
and there was no sound or motion
anywhere. 1t seemed as if we must
be a long ways from everything and
everybody. Up and down the key
was no sign of house. Nothing but
scrubby bushes, with here and there
a palmetto lifting a bare, wind
| bleached trunk. out at sea there
were no sails in sight. not even the
trailing smoke plume of a distant
steamer. A calm, restful. placid place.
Gee, but how lonesome" puts in
| Inez. Don't we eat pretty SOON"
| IF l ever get to be a nervous pros
| traitor, Barry" says l, Il know where
l shall come to recover. Right here
"Looko as though this was one spot
/ where nothing ever happened. eh?"
| he agrees.
AND it couldn't have been five
minutes later. as We were scout
| ing through the middle of the island
after more fuel for the fire. when
! we discovered this desolate little
shack hidden among a bunch of PAL
mettos. Looked as if it had been
quite a neat bungalow once, but part
!, of the roof was gone, the brick
| chimney had crumbled into the sand
and one end of the building sagged
where it had been moved off the con-
crete blocks that had been used as
| foundation. Also there was no glass
left in the windows and burlap bag
did duty as q door.
While we stared at the wreck
man came slouching around the cor
ner of the building, his head held on
/ one side, as though he were listening.
He was as much of wreck as the
house. A greasy, tattered pair of
khaki trousers, canvas sneakers that
showed most of his toes and a torn
and very dirty shirt made up his
costume. His face was covered with
a thin growth of sandy whiskers and
his faded hair was long and matted.
Also his underlip hung loose and
there was depressing sag to his
| shoulders.
Hello" says Barry. I'VE didn't
mean to trespass."
Then the wreck lifted his head and
stared at us and we noticed that his
eyes were bulgy and set.
/ 'Who-who's there?" he asks. II
can't see very we'll"
But it was the clear. cultured voice
that gave us our big surprise. Com
ing from this human derelict it was
distinct shock.
only some stray picnickers.' says
Barry. I'VE didn't know any one
lived on this island"
We'll, you're not far from right.
| at that" says the other. dreary at
Il Continued on Sixth Page.)