"You don't have to; but just remember this, Freddy Whitcomb. Look at this great ocean. It's like the great world. That saying, 'there's just as good fish in the sea as ever came out of it,' is true; and"--Madge captured Whitcomb's reluctant gaze with as bright eyes as ever sparkled under a red cap--"some people are only fish with gold scales," she drawled. "She isn't," blurted out the young man defensively. "Of course not," laughed Madge. "Want to go in once more?" Whitcomb sprang to his feet. "Once more, and then what ho! for the mackerel!" As he helped Madge up the bank a little later he said: "I must stay with King this afternoon." "And call at the Barrys'," thought his companion. "I'm afraid he got sort of down this morning, all alone." "Well, we'll have another go at the court to-morrow," replied Madge good-naturedly. "Freddy needn't have worried," she thought. She was far too clever to satiate a man with her society. King came to the dinner table and did full justice to the meal. "I'm quite sure," he said to Mrs. Lindsay, "that those hammocks were dedicated to the naps of yourself and your daughter, and I want to assure you that I've had my share of them for to-day." The ladies protested kindly. "I've had my eye on a big rock there is over there nearer the water," said King. "I'm going to try my rickety legs that far." A chorus of approval of the plan arose, and after a short time of sitting about the discouraged piazza, he and Whitcomb rambled slowly off. To King's disgust, his friend as they left had picked up a steamer rug. "Oh, cut it out," begged the convalescent. "Shut up!" returned the other cheerfully. Arrived at their goal, he threw down the rug and King was glad to sit on it under the lee of the big rock. "What did you do yesterday, Freddy?" asked King, going directly to the subject uppermost in his mind. "I called on Linda and Mrs. Porter. Mrs. Porter told you, didn't she?" "Yes. She came over, exuding gratitude to you at every pore, and adorably sympathetic and charming to me." "Well, that's all right, isn't it?" returned Whitcomb, a little uncomfortable under his friend's gaze, which seemed more portentous than was necessary. "Women always overdo the gratitude business. Just like her to praise me for engineering an extra long vacation for myself." "Freddy, you haven't told me everything," said King sternly. "Now, spit it right out in Papa's hand." "What are you talking about?" asked the other uneasily. "I don't know, but I'm going to find out. When Linda left Chicago I was the blackest sheep on her black list. What did you tell her to change her attitude? It wasn't that I had been ill, for she would have buried me cheerfully. Now, out with it!" "Is this the third degree?" Whitcomb was gathering the daisies within reach. "Yes. It wasn't any opinion you had of me contrary to hers. She thinks for herself; so give me the real stuff."