King gazed after his friend as the latter ran across the grass and disappeared within their tent. He closed his eyes, and opening them in a few minutes at a sound, found beside him a figure in a long black cloak, with a dark face beneath a red bathing-cap. Miss Lindsay was smiling down at him. "We're going for a dip, Mr. King. I wish you could come." "Pardon my not rising," said the invalid. "It's such fun to have somebody to play with. I'm so glad you brought Fred here. I was getting so bored." "That's a consoling way of putting it," remarked King. "It's a proud moment when I am spoken of as taking anybody anywhere." "Oh, you'll be out of that hammock in a week. Do you like the banjo, Mr. King?" "I hate it," he replied distinctly; then seeing the dark face fall, "but not more than I do everything." "So discouraging," drawled Madge. "I was going to promise to give you some perfectly jolly darky tunes to-night." "Good Lord, deliver us!" again rose to King's lips, but he swallowed the phrase. "Don't mind about me," he said. "Just give me a few board nails to bite, and let it go at that. I'm not worse than other convalescents, I dare say." "Lemon jelly wasn't the thing to feed him," said Madge to Whitcomb, as a few minutes later they were scrambling down the bank toward a short stretch of pebbly beach. "He should be fed saccharine and nothing else. You never do know what to do with such people. You don't like not to be civil. You have a wonderful disposition, Fred. Yes, you have. I've always noticed it." "I fancy I am something of an optimist," admitted Whitcomb, "but I need to be, as badly as anybody that ever lived. Now I'm trying to think that that sunny water will feel the way it looks." "Come on, then," cried Madge, flinging aside her cloak, and seizing his hand she drew him, protesting and howling, into the icy flood. The wind was offshore, and Madge, thoroughly acclimated, had been anticipating mischievously the effect upon the tenderfoot. He was game, however, and Lake Michigan had made him practically amphibious, so they had an exhilarating swim before coming out on the white pebbles for a sun bath. "I'm afraid it will be a long time before King can stand that," remarked Whitcomb. "What did you mean," asked Madge, "by saying a few minutes ago that you need a happy disposition more than other people? Is it because Mr. King is so difficult?" "No," replied Whitcomb, gathering up a few pebbles and beginning to play jackstones. He avoided his companion's very good-looking but enterprising eyes. "Well, aren't you going to tell me?" "I don't know why I shouldn't. You're my cousin. I adore a girl who doesn't care a hang for me." "The Thermos bottle," thought Madge acutely. "But you won't tell me who?" she hazarded aloud. "Why should I?"