“‘At this season of the year, which has come to be designated the silly season, the public press is deluged with puerile old-world stories of gigantic gooseberries and enormous sea serpents. So that it is quite in keeping with the weird traditions of this time of the year to find a story of some wonder of the deep, arising even at so well-known a watering place as Beachfield. Close to an excellent golf course, and surrounded by various beauty spots, with a thoroughly revised water supply, a newly painted pier and three rival Cinematograph Picture Palaces, Beachfield has long been known as a rising _plage_ of exceptional attractions, the quaint charm of its....’” “Hold on,” said Francis, “this isn’t about any old Mermaid.” “Oh, that’ll be further on,” said Mavis. “I expect they have to put all that stuff in to be polite to Beachfield—let’s skip—‘agreeable promenade, every modern convenience, while preserving its quaint....’ What does quaint mean, and why do they keep on saying it?” “I don’t think it means anything,” said Francis, “it’s just a word they use, like weird and dainty. You always see it in a newspaper. Ah—got her. Here she is—‘The excitement may be better imagined than described’—no, that’s about the Gymkhana—here we are: “‘Master Wilfred Wilson, the son of a well-known and respected resident, arrived home yesterday evening in tears. Inquiry elicited a statement that he had been paddling in the rock pools, which are to be found in such profusion under the West Cliff, when something gently pinched his foot. He feared that it might be a lobster, having read that these crustaceans sometimes attack the unwary intruder, and he screamed. So far his story, though unusual, contains nothing inherently impossible. But when he went on to state that a noise “like a lady speaking” told him not to cry, and that, on looking down, he perceived that what held him was a hand “coming from one of the rocks under water,” his statement was naturally received with some incredulity. It was not until a boating party returning from a pleasure trip westward stated that they had seen a curious sort of white seal with a dark tail darting through the clear water below their boat that Master Wilfred’s story obtained any measure of credence.’” (“What’s credence?” said Mavis. “Oh, never mind. It’s what you believe with, I think. Go on,” said Francis.)