ANOTHER MEETING
Ward was not a good runner and he was quickly out of breath. Panting
and gasping, he trailed after the others and by the time he came up
with them he was in no shape to ask a riddle or any kind of question
for as long as three minutes.
They all dropped comfortably on the sand and Polly insisted that no one
should ask a riddle until Ward was ready.
"That is, if he hasn't forgotten the one he remembered," Fred remarked,
for Ward often remembered something and forgot it before he could tell
it.
Fat Ward looked reproachfully at Fred, but just then he recalled his
riddle and that pleased him so much he decided not to be cross.
"I'm all ready," he beamed. "Who'll I ask?"
"Me," said Artie. "Bet you can't ask a riddle I can't answer."
Of course this rash challenge earned him the right to be "asked
first," and Ward's eyes danced.
"When does the ocean resemble a big bakery?" he demanded.
"Huh," Artie said. "Huh, that's easy----"
Then he stopped.
"Hurry up," prodded Ward. "I thought you said you could guess any
riddle."
"I didn't say without thinking," Artie retorted. "When does the ocean
resemble a big bakery? Keep still and let me think."
Artie was famous for taking a fearful length of time to meditate on his
answers to riddles, and the others settled down for a long wait. He was
staring out to sea as though he expected the water to give him help of
some kind.
"When does the ocean--" he kept murmuring. "When does the ocean----"
"Fish cakes!" he said triumphantly. "That's it, isn't it, Ward?"
"They don't have fish cakes in a bakery," Ward informed him. "Besides,
I never heard of fish cakes in the ocean."
"If a fish hit the side of that old piling he'd be a fish cake, I
guess," argued Artie.
"Well that isn't the answer, anyway," Ward declared, with finality.
"Let every one have a guess," suggested Polly. "If Artie gives up, ask
Margy."
"My goodness, I don't know," Margy cried a little wildly. "I wasn't
even thinking."
"Margy always shies off as though a riddle was going to bite her," said
Fred. "I should say a bakery was like the ocean when it has scales."
"You mean the ocean is like a bakery," Ward corrected. "But that isn't
right, Fred."
Jess ventured the answer, "when it is crowded," and in response to the
laughter explained that the ocean was crowded "in spots."
"I've seen the excursion crowds," she said.
"When it's full of rolls?" Polly hazarded slowly, when it came her turn.
"You've got it!" exclaimed Ward, in delight. "'When it's full of fresh
rolls,' is right, but rolls is the answer. Good for you, Polly!"
"How'd you do it, Polly?" asked Margy.
"I saw the breakers rolling in and that made me think of it," Polly
said modestly.
They insisted that she must ask the next riddle, as a reward for
guessing correctly, so Polly thought for a few moments and then asked:
"What fish always goes around armed?" and added: "That's the easiest
one I know."
"A shark!" cried Jess.
Polly shook her head.
"I don't know many fish," Margy complained. "Only bluefish and weakfish
and--and----"
"Poor fish!" said Ward teasingly. "Anyway, whose turn is it to guess?"
"I meant to ask Jess," Polly said. "If she has given up, any one may
try."
Fred thought it might be a flounder. "He might flounder when he's
attacked and then the other fish couldn't fight him," he explained.
"That doesn't sound just right," Artie objected, but Polly, anxious to
forestall a long argument on flounders and floundering, suggested that
Ward had not had his turn.
"The fish that always goes armed," recited Ward, in his best classroom
manner, "is the swordfish."
"Good gracious!" Jess stared at her brother in mingled admiration and
pride. "How did you know?"
"I thought of guns and then I thought of swords," Ward beamed. "Then,
of course, I remembered swordfish."
"Want to go in now?" called Mr. Williamson. "We're going up to get in
our suits, and we'll be right down. Wait for us."
The children waved their hands to show they had heard and understood
and Margy said hurriedly:
"Ask another--let Artie, because he ought to know an easy one."
"I think we ought to have some system," Artie announced, with earnest
disapproval. "I'll start with Jess and go right around the circle,
asking: Why is a ship always polite?"
"I suppose because it is called 'her,'" said Jess composedly.
The others stared.
"Her?" repeated Fred. "Who says her?"
"I know it, because some one said so," Jess maintained. "You never
heard a ship called 'him.' Daddy always says, 'She's built from the
best dried lumber,' when he's talking about his boats."
"But what has that got to do with being polite?" Polly asked, puzzled.
"Oh, girls are always more polite than boys, so ships must be," said
Jess, apparently thinking her reasoning was most clear.
"I don't know what you're talking about," Artie declared, with more
frankness than courtesy. "But, anyway, that isn't the right answer.
Margy?"
Margy looked anxious. She took her riddles seriously.
"Is it because it dips its colors when it meets another boat?" she
asked.
"No, that isn't right," Artie said. "They don't all dip their colors,
either. Can you guess, Ward?"
"Maybe because the decks are scrubbed," declared Ward. "My mother says
it is polite to have clean hands."
Artie shook his head, not against the clean hands, but to signify that
the answer was not the one sought.
Polly, whose turn was next, gave up frankly and Fred asked for a few
minutes in which to think.
"Maybe it is because it will wig-wag back when some one signals," he
said finally. "It is polite to answer when you're spoken to."
"Everybody's wrong," Artie announced, a little triumphantly. "I'm the
only one who knows the answer."
Fred laughed good-naturedly.
"Well, I should hope you'd know the answer to your own riddle," he said
quickly. "Come on and let us share the secret."
Artie cleared his throat.
"A ship is always polite," said he, "because it approaches with a bow."
"And arrow?" Ward chimed in.
"No, not an arrow, silly," said Artie. "This is another kind of a bow.
I mean the front part of a ship."
Fred and Polly looked as though they wanted to laugh.
"Say," said Fred, "did you hear that riddle, Artie, or did you read it?
I'll bet a cookie you read it."
"Of course I read it--in a book," Artie answered. "It said the front
part of a ship."
"That's all right," replied Fred, grinning. "But you don't pronounce
this b-o-w that way. The front part of a ship is the bow, the way you
say you made a bow. See? That's where the being polite, comes in."
Ward made a dive for Artie and they rolled over on the sand.
"Nobody could guess the riddle!" chuckled Ward. "Not even Artie had it
right!"
"Anybody going swimming?" asked Mr. Larue, coming down to them in his
bathing suit, followed by Mr. Marley and Mr. Williamson. "If the Riddle
Club will adjourn, we'll take you as far as you want to go, to make up
for waiting so patiently."
"I move that the meeting be adjourned," said Jess, and Margy seconded
the motion.
Two minutes later the Riddle Club membership might have been seen
floating far out, just beyond the lazy breakers. They could swim a
little, and all of them could float, and they stayed there till an
unusually heavy comber frightened Margy and she wanted to come in. Then
they splashed around in the shallower water for another half hour,
and then put on their sweaters and toasted themselves in the sun till
reminded that it was time to go up to the cottage and get dressed for
lunch.
"Gee, I like it here," announced Fred, as they toiled through the
heavy sand. "We can have heaps of fun--there's country back of all the
cottages."
"Yes, farms and things," Polly agreed. "They bring in fresh vegetables
every morning."
"Don't talk of vegetables--I'm starved," said Margy, and they all owned
that whether it was the riddles or the swim in salt water that was
responsible, the fact remained that they were exceedingly hungry.
The three mothers had spent a busy morning, and the trunks were
unpacked, light curtains hung at the doors and windows--"to take
away the bare, rented look," Mrs. Marley explained--fresh towels and
bureau scarfs distributed throughout the rooms, and, best of all, a
substantial lunch cooked and waiting.
"Now, this afternoon you're to rest," announced Mr. Williamson.
"Whatever these young Indians do, they mustn't make a single demand on
any mother. If we are not careful every one will have a fine vacation
except these mothers, who will work harder than they do at home."
"Oh, the worst is done now," Mrs. Williamson said quickly. "We're
ready to keep house with as little fuss and trouble as possible. This
afternoon we have planned to take our needlework down to the beach, if
you'll put up the tent for us."
A large square of canvas was rolled up in the back hall, and this, Mrs.
Meeker had explained, was to be tied over a simple frame of light wood
that rested in the sand. This gave the sketchiest kind of a "tent,"
merely a protection from the sun, but affording a comfortable place to
sit and read and sew. The beach at this end of the town was dotted with
these tents, and here mothers sat for hours while their babies slept
and the older children frolicked on the sands.
By the time the tent was up, the Riddle Club members had decided that
what they needed was exercise, and they declared they would walk to
the post-office, going by way of the beach. There could not be any
mail yet, but it would be interesting to see the town and, as Artie
remarked, it was their duty to know the location of the post-office.
Artie had a lively sense of duty, and now and then his friends confused
it with curiosity.
"Here comes a girl in a pink dress," said Margy, when they had walked
about half a mile up the beach. "She looks something like Mattie Helms,
doesn't she?"
Margy and Polly and Jess wore dark blue skirts and middy blouses, and
the two girls coming toward them were dressed in fluffy light-colored
frocks and one carried a blue parasol.
"It is Mattie Helms," Jess declared. "Who do you suppose that is with
her?"
"Well, no matter who it is, don't stop and talk," warned Artie. "We'll
never get anywhere."
"There's a boy looks like Joe Anderson," Fred said suddenly. "Say----"
He and Polly had the same thought at the same time. They spoke
simultaneously.
"That must be Carrie Pepper!" they cried.
"I knew if I wore this blouse with a berry stain on it, we'd meet
somebody," Margy almost wept. "I wanted to change it, and you wouldn't
wait."