"And so the morning wore away until Freda came with a cool-looking hamper. Then delicious cold fowl and lettuce sandwiches and champagne cup set our tongues wagging as only very young tongues can wag. Daisy went back with Freda after luncheon, leaving me a case of cigars, with a bantering smile. I dozed, half awake, keeping a partly closed eye on the ocean, where a faint gray streak showed plainly amid the azure water all around. That was the Gulf Stream loop. "About four o'clock Frisby appeared with a bamboo shelter-tent, for which I was unaffectedly grateful. "After he had erected it over me he stopped to chat a bit, but the conversation bored me, for he could talk of nothing but bill-posting. "'You wouldn't ruin the landscape here, would you?' I asked. "'Ruin it!' repeated Frisby, nervously. 'It's ruined now; there ain't a place to stick a bill.' "'The snipe stick bills--in the sand,' I said, flippantly. "There was no humor about Frisby. 'Do they?' he asked. "I moved with a certain impatience. "'Bills,' said Frisby, 'give spice an' variety to nature. They break the monotony of the everlastin' green and what-you-may-call-its.' "I glared at him. "'Bills,' he continued, 'are not easy to stick, lemme tell you, sir. Sign-paintin's a soft snap when it comes to bill-stickin'. Now, I guess I've stuck more bills onto New York State than ennybody.' "'Have you?' I said, angrily. "'Yes, siree! I always pick out the purtiest spots--kinder filled chuck full of woods and brooks and things; then I h'ist my paste-pot onto a rock, and I slather that rock with gum, and whoop she goes!' "'Whoop what goes?' "'The bill. I paste her onto the rock, with one swipe of the brush for the edges and a back-handed swipe for the finish--except when a bill is folded in two halves.' "'And what do you do then?' I asked, disgusted. "'Swipe twice,' said Frisby, with enthusiasm. "'And you don't think it injures the landscape?' "'Injures it!' he exclaimed, convinced that I was attempting to joke. "I looked wearily out to sea. He also looked at the water and sighed sentimentally. "'Floatin' buoys with bills onto 'em is a idea of mine,' he observed. 'That damn ocean is monotonous, ain't it?' "I don't know what I might have done to Frisby--the rifle was so convenient--if his mean yellow dog had not waddled up at this juncture. "'Hi, Davy, sic 'em!' said Frisby, expectorating upon a clam-shell and hurling it seaward. The cur watched the flight of the shell apathetically, then squatted in the sand and looked at his master. "'Kinder lost his spirit,' said Frisby, 'ain't he? I once stuck a bill onto Davy, an' it come off, an' the paste sorter sickened him. He was hell on rats--once!' "After a moment or two Frisby took himself off, whistling cheerfully to Davy, who followed him when he was ready. The rifle burned in my fingers. "It was nearly six o'clock when the professor appeared, spade on shoulder, boots smeared with mud.