“Certainly,” said the Deacon, half turning about. “And of course you’ll have dinner with us. Only I wanted this young man to meet my girls. Why, here comes Sadie now.” And indeed a brown-haired damsel of some twenty summers, just emerged from the sea, was running swiftly toward him. “Sadie, this is Mr. Tamms, and Mr.--Mr. Townley,” and the trio bowed at a respectable distance, for Miss Remington was still extremely wet. “Sadie’ll show you the shortest way back,” said Mr. Remington, “and I’ll go back and get the mother.” Sadie gave a toss to her mane of hair, which scorned any oiled cap, as if to indicate her readiness; and led the way up the soft banks of sand to the street and its plank-walks. “It must be very pleasant to be able to bathe so easily,” said Charlie, trying hard to walk on the plank-walk beside her and yet keep out of his fair guide’s drip. “Yes, it’s ever so much nicer than dressing in the bathing-houses,” said Miss Remington. “Did you drive over from the Branch? I’m told it’s awfully gay there, this season;” and Charlie admitted that it was. They had now reached the main street of the town, and Charlie could not but admire the genuineness of Miss Remington’s constitution, as the hot sun streamed upon her wet face and her salted locks hung heavily behind her. The hotel was now before them, and after indicating the gentlemen’s parlor to her guests, she herself disappeared by a side entrance. The great parlor contained nothing of human interest but a leather-bound Bible on a marble centre-table; and Tamms and Charlie Townley soon gravitated to the piazza, where, feet upon rail, and Tamms (who smoked at all times and junctures) with a cigar in his mouth, they awaited the coming of their host. Soon he appeared, with another young lady, more slender and, if possible, wetter than Miss Sadie, walking nervously, Mrs. Remington steaming hopelessly in their wake. “My wife can’t stay,” said the Deacon, after the first moments of compliment had passed; “she’s got to get ready for dinner. And now tell me all about it, Tamms,” said he, as he drew a chair up beside them. It was curious to watch the contrast between Remington’s evident nervousness and Tamms’s entire self-possession; and Charlie watched it. “Have a cigar?” said Tamms, politely drawing another black one from his pocket. “You know I never smoke, Tamms. But what’s this about the Starbuck Oil?” “Well, you know about all there is about it,” said Tamms, lazily. “It can’t pay interest on the Terminal bonds, that’s all. They never ought to have paid any dividend, in my opinion.” This remark cleverly cut from under his feet the rejoinder Remington had in mind; and he looked at Tamms helplessly. “This is a pretty state of things,” said he, at last. “I thought the Company had consolidated with Allegheny Central.”