New Britain Herald Newspaper, April 29, 1927, Page 24

CHAPTER 1 F all scenes of sheer gayety, of relaxed conventionality, of utter freedom from responsibility, care or trouble, there 1s no spot to compare with an ocean bathing beach, The wine-dark sea may streteh its dangerous depths > far horizon in one direction; the land, with its g spots of civilization, may yvawn with equal dangers on the other side; but at the joining, the foam-fringed bit of No Man’s Land between earth and water, all is merri- ment and abandon. Bars ave let down, restraint flies, caste is forgotten, and high and low, good and bad, real and imitation are made free and equal by the one touch of salt water that makes the whole world kin. Among the beaches best adapted for sea dipping are those on the coast of New Jersey, and of those one of the finest is the great resort called Ocean Town, Its habitues contend that nowhere else is the tempera- ture of the water always as it should be, and the adjust- ment of the sun's 1 a counsel of perfection. Year after yvear, the lovers of the place return with Joy and leave with regret. July opened auspiciously. Everything was in readiness for an enormous celebration of the national holiday, and those who could do so came a few days ahead of the erowds, to get. as it were, a running start, The noonday sun shone down on hundreds of human hands in long straight rows, human fists, rather, as each tightly clasped itself round the hard, thick rope that shot its way far out into the ocean. With many the sea bath consisted in a continuous frantic clutch on this life-line, while the more adventurous dared let go, and huffet the spent waves near the shore. Others still, and these were the ones that turned gray the hair of the life guards, were possessed to swim out far bevond their depths, and beyond all bounds of wisdom or safety. But the lure of the surf is a subtle spell and its danger seems negligible when the great waves call. On the other side of the last lace-edged frill of the combers, the beach groups sat about in utter bliss of con- tentment. Here, a family from an inner county of the state; there a small crowd from the middle west; yonder a gay bunch from New York city itself. A quiet, sophisticated-looking group of five consisted of three men, a young woman and a girl. The girl wore a modish swimming suit of wool jersey, flowered in quiet colors, with a rubberized silk bathing cap and hemp-soled sandals. - Her lithe eagerness proclaimed her a swimmer, and she was manifestly impatient to start. The other woman, only slightly older, was garbed in an elaborate bathing costume of flowered crepe de chine, with a coquettish beret that fell over to one side of her curly bobbed hair. Clearly, she had no intention of dampen- ing her newly marcelled locks. Her frock was ruffled and sashed, and a smart beach cape of flowered silk fell from her shoulders. Her lovely face was alight with fun, her eyes dancing with laughter, when, suddenly catching sight of some men and women approaching, she gave a stifled, startled ex- clamation, and swung the gay parasol she was holding round till it shielded her face. “What's the matter, Maddy?” ecried the girl by her side, “coy?” “Sun in my eyes,” was the reply, but when the parasol was again pushed aside, the dark eyes, with their heavy brows, lacked all hint of laughter, and the red lips paled beneath their red, and called for a fresh application from the enameled vanity case she carried. The oldest of the three men rose and shook himself like a big dog. “Come on, people,” he said, “what are we waiting for? 1 suppose, Robin, you and Angelica will take your life in your hands, as usual—" “Yes, rather,” and the girl in the swimming suit scrambled to her feet. “Today we're going way out— farther than ever before.” “Fool growled the older man. “I wouldn’t mind, only it's so expensive to subsidize a guard to pay exclusive attention to you two idiots. Well, go to it.” They all rose then, the beautiful Madeline Barron, in her French costume, and her adoring husband, Ned Barron, the copper king The pretty girl, Angelica Fair, was her friend and guest, and the other two, father and son, were Croydon Sears and his boy, Robin. But, about to start, Madeline was delayed by the ap- pearance of her thiee vear old daughter, with her nurse. The baby was in bathing rompers and glecful at the prospeet of going in paddling. Both parents stopped and sat down on and again. vou people,” Barron sang out. “We'll come wte. We want to play with Popsy.” So the others went on, Robin and Angelica, who were to brave the waves out to a daring dis- tance, and Croydon Sears to stand at the rope and jump up and down until the Barrons joined him. Another group on the beach that morning was keyed to a somewhat different pitch. The dominating spirit was Carmelita Valdon, a beauty as exotic and alluring as her name. Her beach pajamas were distinetly Parisian and a step or two ahead of American fashions. But then Carmeclita was a step or two ahead of most things and most people, and her oriental costume and Jap- anese parasol made a picture that was as attractive as it was colorful. Her woman companion made a perfect foil, for Mrs. Barnaby was fair, fat and forty, and dressed the part. Also she was of great importance socially and pos- sessed of a sharp tongue, so her favorites fawned on her, while her enemies gave her a wide berth. “Duchess,” said Carmelita, in languid accents, “aren't Yyou going in this morning ?"” “Of course,” returned Mrs. Barnaby, who bore th noble nickname. *Shall we toddle now?” “No hurry,” put in Garrett Folsom. “I only came yes terday, you know. I want to look about a few minutes.” He was a big man, and his bathing costume of worsted shirt and trunks was becoming to him. The color was a silver gray, with three black stripes across the chest, and a white belt with black stripes. Perhaps fifty, his hair was gray at the temples, but his face was unlined and his eyes clear and hright. Deep set, dark eyes they were, that had looked upon much of this world, for better and for worse, and whosc shrewd appraisals were rarely at fault. Now, he was observing the beach crowd, the young girls and women in their alluring costumes and the men in their scarcely scantier garb. “The bathing suits grow prettier every year,” he said, with an appreciative glance at the passing throng, and then at the two women in his own party. “Oh, come on,” said Neville, the other member of their quartet, “you can look at them in the show windows on the Carolyn Wells @1927 BY NEA SERVICE INC. “You did so!” insisted Carmelita, who stood next to liim, and who lzid a detaining hand on his own, as it grasped the rope next to hers. “If you want to swim, choose some other time. Just now you are a squire of dames. Isn't he, Duchess?” “You bet he is!” exclaimed Mrs. Barnaby, wiping salt water out of her eves with the back of one hand, while hanging on to the rope with the other. “If he deserts us, me for dvy land! I know I'm going to be swept out to sea by this next wave. Oh, merey! here it comes! It's like a wall of water!” It was a wall of water, and it engulfed the party as well as hundreds of other bathers near them. The Duchess coughed and sputtered, but gamely held round. melita took advantage of her friend's be- 1ent to slip from her place on the rope, and exchange with the Duchess, thus bringiig herself next to Folsom, a position she had coveted.from the first. “Iow's Mrs. Barnaby? She all right?” Folsom asked, bending over to see the lady in question. All richt, yet!” growled the Duchess, “but that snip- jack slid into my place! Now I shall be drowned, I'm sure!” Jut her words were lost in the roar of another ap- proaching wave, and she gave over talking and devoted all her attention to preserving her equilibrium, and keeping her hold on the rope. Riggs saw the guards carry from the erashing waves the helpless form of a man and lay their burden down on the beach. Boardwalk later. T assure you, Garry, they have some stun- ning rigs on show.” “But perhaps it isn't only the garment that pleases the eve of Mr. Folsom,” Carmelita Valdon suggested, v ing now she had worn a more decollette effect than her chic pajama suit. “Everything pleases me,” he declared, smiling, and rose, stretching himself luxuriously as he feasted his eyes on the gorgeous scene. “T haven't been down here for three vears, and the place is renewing its charm for me. T always did revel in it. T only wish 1 could swim in the swrf. Took at those chaps way out beyond the breakers! That's the stuff.” Don't you swim?” asked the duchess. “I'm glad, for then you'll stay with us. I hate men who get me clutched to the rope and then say ‘Excuse me a moment,” and the next thing you know they're out beyond the three mile limit ! “Nothing like that!” Tolsom smiled at her. “T can swim all day in still water, but not in the surf. Probably could, after a little practice—" “Don’t practice; stay with us,” smiled Mrs. Valdon, and Folsom agreed to do so. So the four of them grasped the rope, and, like puppets on a string, jumped up and down, sprang at the oncoming choked and laughed as the salt water dashed over them and behaved generally like irresponsible children in a big bathtub. Roger Neville, unable to resist the call of the surf, swam away, took an incoming breaker head on, and came up smiling on top of it. “Get into the game, Garry,” he called out. “It's great, really, and there’s almost no undertow today. If you've carried off there are scores of life guards about who'll pick you up.” “Oh, I'm not exactly timid!" returned Folsom, scof- fingly, as Neville came near enough to hear him. “But 1 promised these ladies I'd stand by-—" » Far out, beyond the rough and tumble of the breakers, the two expert swimmers sat on an anchored raft. “You're a marvel, Robin,” the girl said. “I'm glad Fate sent me a life mate who loves swimming. I believe vou could swim all the way across!” “Probably not,” returned Robin Sears. “But I'd get as far the next fellow, I'll bet on that! And, too, Angel, endurance isn't the only test.” “No, but you'd pass all the rest too. You can swim every way, can't you?” “Of course. Sideways, on my back, under water, any old way. Youre a bit of a wonder yourself, you know. For a givl—" “Oh, yes, for a girl 'm all right. Not every girl could get out here with you, But I can’t do any trick swimming.” “You can learn. Tl teach you. But no more today. You're a bit winded, and we must be getting back, or we'll be late for luncheon.” Diving gracefully, Angelica came up beside Robin, and with long, capable strokes they made for the shore. “There they are—I see Maddy's cap!” the girl cried as they came nearer the line of rope clingers. “Let's go there.” Assisted by a friendly wave, they reached their goal and serambled to their feet, seeking a vacant space on the rope. But it was erowded, so they laughingly moved over toward the next rope. “Better go in now,” New Barron called to them, and a wave of her hand told him that Angelica had heard and would obey. “Wonderful swimmers, vour two young friends,” said a voice next him, and Barron turned to see a stranger him. “Yes,” he replied, a little curtly, for he had a deeply rooted aversion to making friends in the ocean. But the friendly stranger wouldn't accept rebuff, and went on, affably: “Haven't been here for some years. Quite a lot of change. Mostly in the women's bathing suits—for the bet- ter, of course.” The speech grated on Ned Barron's taste, but the voice was cultured and the man’s appearance both civil and correct. A clubman and a gay one, once. “From the west?” he said, with more perspicacity than tact. “Yep. That is, Chicago. You alone?” As he spoke, he leaned forward to see Barron’s next neighbor. It was his wife, Madeline, and Ned leaned his own big body forward to intercept the stranger's regaid. “No, not alone, my wife is with me,” he said, and per- haps no such short sentence ever carried gredter weight of advice. The curtness of the speech, combined with a direct glance straight into the other man’s eyes, carried under- standing, challenge and a note of warning that was unmis- takable and definite. Only a dumb brain would have failed to grasp Ned Barron's intent, and Garrett Folsom's brain was anything but dumb. “Where’s Roger?” he asked, turning back to his own party, who were at his right hand. “There he is,” and rmelita Valdon glanced admiringly at Neville, swimming with long, clean strokes toward them. “I know you're just dying to swim away, Mr. Folsom. Go ahead, if you like. I'll stand guard over the Duchess.” A smile of gratitude thanked her for this, and Folsom let go the rope and swam into an oncoming wave. But he quickly returned. “It’s too hard on me,” he exclaimed, laughing, while he puffed and panted for breath. “I must get used to it by de- grees. I'm not as well in condition as I ought to be.” She had saved his place on the rope for him, and he slipped in between her and Barron again. “Who's this chap on my left ?” he said to her. “Da yvou know 2" “I know him slightly, ves. Tle’s a Mr. Barron, from New York, I think, or near New York., Why?" “No reason at all. Tdle e i T thought T saw him at our hotel last evening.” “Yes, they're staying there. A party of several. Don’t you think we'd better be getting along home now? T've had about enough.” “Yes, let's collect Neville and get out. Whoo-o0o, Roger!” But no one responded to his summons, and Mys. Barn- aby began to fret. “Let’s go on out, anyway,” $he said. “That’s Roger all over. He always runs clear off, just when we want him most. Come, Mr. Folsom, help me to shore. I'll have to let go the rope, it’s so full of bathers this mornine. I never saw such a erowd on this beach before!” “Oh, yes,” Carmelita said, “often and often. But these days just before Fourth of July bring extra herdes of people.” “Wonderful sig and once more Garrett Folsom gave himself over to admiring it. “I've bathed on nearly every beach in Europe, but none of them can touch this for magnitude.” “Not at all exclusive, though,” and the Duchess gave a fastidious little sniff. “All sorts and conditions of men, 1 call it.” “That’s part of its charm,” Jaughed Folsom. “I like to rub shoulders with the proletariat, now and then. Espe- cially when I can’t tell them from the patricians! And who can, in the ocean?” Ocean Town was not exclusive. Tt held out welcoming arms to anybody and everybody who could pay its prices and would behave properly. But as a spectacle, as an enigma, it invited attention, and with something of the lure of a crossword puzzle, it intrigued the imagination of those who saw it as a form of mental entertainment. One man in particular never tired of watching the ocean show from the coign of vantage which was his chosen resting spot. The great Hotel Majusaca had, in common with its neighboring hostelries, a large deck, as it was called, the same being an enormous veranda or platform extending partly out over the Boardwalk. Titus Riggs, known to all his own world as Tite, spent his mornings here, in one of the great rockers provided for indolent guests and let his gaze wander idly over the bathers. Though not at all a hermit, he was not a sociable sort. and seldom made new friends. His vocation was that of an architect, his avoeation to view quietly and unostentatiously his fellow men. For a holiday, he chose to come down to Ocean Town, where the architecture was among the worst on earth. On this Saturday morning, Riges sat in his great rock- er, slumped down in a somewhat ungainly heap, and watch- ed, aided at times by a pair of field gla: He v looking for or expecting anything to happe usual, that is—he was content just to look at the mo picture spread out before his eyes. And then, something did happen, or rather something had happened. As he looked he saw people in the sea, gatheving in a huddle at one spot. He saw one and then another of the life gnards stiide to the ever-enlarging group, and he aw them fairly fling the bathers aside as they hurried. Riggs took up hi es and s carry from the crashing waves the helpless form of a i, a large man in a gray bathing suit, and lay their burden dawn on the beach. Riggs kept on watching closely. And then another man from the ocean came and bent over the stricken one. Riggs could hear no word, but he gathered from the look of finality on the face of this man who made an ex- amination, that the victim of cramp, or whatever the trou- ble was, was past help. Tt was a strange scene. Without doubt the investigat- ing man was a doctorr and had prenounced the other man dead. No other hypothesis could explain the helpless, hape- less appearance of those neavest the unconscious man, and no other meaning could be read into the faces of the shock- ed crowd. Not often did Tite Riggs give way to curiosity. But in this instance he rose and went down the steps, ed the Boardwalk and walked out on the beach. Barron sized him up at (To be Continued) Which of the bathers is dead and how did he die? These are sur- priscs In the chaptcrs ahead,