Worcester Democrat and the ledger-enterprise. (Pocomoke City, Md.) 1921-1953, 1935-09-27
CHAPTER I

en- down from New York on this en-
chanting Saturday of June directly
after the closing of the shops and OF
fees they worked in.
The sun had shone all afternoon as
they dipped in and out of the Atlantic.
On this longest day of the year, it
was as though a magic wand had
touched Long Island, so that every
thing sparkled as though it were quite
newAand surely there had never been
ANYTHING bluer than the ocean!
Except your eyes!" tousle-headed
young Howard Scott, the painter, told
Lucinda.
He had been in love with Lucinda
Stanford for six months, which is a |
long, long time for painter.
Lucinda had dived through wall
of azure glass, and had come up drip
ping, and made face at him.
He had pulled her under, and held
her there, and kissed her.
She had grabbed him by the hair
with one sunburned, beautifully shap-
ed hand, and they had both come up,
and he had told Lucinda who was
laughing and scolding all in a breath,
that her eyes were "like bluebells un-
der water"
"Get along with you and your BLAIR
ney. and save the compliments Tor
those that appreciate them!" Thus Luz
cinda, who was twenty-one but had
never been in love, as she shook her
bright curls back, for all the world
like a playful russell retriever.
Bubbles had shouted from the shore
that it was going to rain, and they
had better all pack back in the cars,
and find a sheltered spot to picnic.
Bubbles was an imp of girl, with the
willowiest figure in all New York,
and a head of hair that changed it's
color. as she herself said, according
to the seasons.
It was platinum-blonde just now,
but before winter it would be blue
black in the Spanish manner. Bub-
bles modelled in Fifth Avenue store.
She was bold little thing not much
past eighteen, and good deal of a
gold-digger. Artist though he was,
Howard Scott maintained that Bub-
bles' only claim to fame lay in the
fact that she happened to be Lucinda's
sister.
Bubbles face might run the art
tistic gamut from vivid watercolor
(painted by herself) to strange piece
in oils, as on this sunny afternoon
when she had smeared herself in the
sun-tanning manner.
But for beauty of feature and that
elusive quality known as charm, Lu-
cinda had it all over her younger sis
ter.
The voice of England-but certain
ly not England at its best-now added
its quota. 81 say, we'd betty jolly
well hop it before bally old Jupiter
Pluvius weeps on u.s." chirped BERTHE
Sprigg from the beach, clinging to
Bubbles. He had changed from his
bathing suit-hiding the family skele-
ton, as Bubbles put it-under noisy
suit of "plus fours."
"Come on" said Howard Scott, pull
ing Lucinda out of the ocean. "We'd
better join the gang. You're an un-
kind wench, and I won't waste any
more time on you"
But when they had changed their
clothes. it was he who drove Lucinda
in his rafting tin-lizzie at the rear
of the procession. When, after a
hour or so, they had reached and raid
ed the old barn that offered shelter
from the rain and was piled high at
one end inside with hay, it was he who
not only saw to it that Lucinda ate,
but who replenished her paper cup
with cocktails.
AS the day drew in-as even the
longest day of June must dot was
a gay scene in the old barn, lit by
sputtering candles. They danced to
the music of small portable gramo-
phone and their own exuberant young
voices. Someone had a ukelele and
sang cheerful, mildly naughty ditties.
They told stories with much laughter.
Each boy had brought his own flask
excepting BERTHE Sprigg, who never
contributed anything-and Howard
Scott had thoughtfully filled gallon
oil-can with his famous homemade
cocktails, potent as dynamite.
81 say, you jolly old blighters are
frightfully hospit!" carrolled BERTHE,
pouring his fifth cocktail, for he was
a sponge in more ways than one.
"This priceless little festivity is just