At seven o'clock the Seaside Hotel struggled into full dress--ladies
emerged from siestas and curlpapers, dowagers wormed into straight
fronts and spread the spousal vestments of boiled shirt, U-shaped
waistcoat _et al_. across the bed. Slim young men in the swelter
of their inside two-fifty-a-day rooms carefully extracted their
braided-at-the-seams trousers from beneath the mattresses and removed
trees from patent-leather pumps.
At seven-thirty young girls fluttered in and out from the dining-room
like brilliant night moths, the straight-front dowagers, U-vested
spouses, and slim young men in braided trousers seams crowded about the
desk for the influx of mail, and read their tailor and modiste duns with
the rapt and misleading expression that suggested a love rune rather
than a "Please remit." Interested mothers elbowed for the most desirable
veranda rockers; the blather of voices, the emph-umph-umph of the
three-nights-a-week orchestra and the remote pound of the ocean joined
in united effort.
At eight o'clock Miss Myra Sternberger yawned in her wicker rocker and
raised two round and bare-to-the-elbow arms high above her head.
"Gee!" she said. "This place is so slow it gets on my nerves--it does!"
Mrs. Blondheim, who carried toast away from the breakfast-table
concealed beneath a napkin for her daughter who remained abed until
noon, paused in her Irish crochet, spread a lace wheel upon her ample
knee, and regarded it approvingly.
"What you got to kick about, Miss Sternberger? Didn't I see you in the
surf this morning with that shirtwaist drummer from Cincinnati?"
"Mr. Eckstein--oh, I been meetin' him down here in July for two years.
He's a nice fellow an' makes a good livin'--but he ain't my style."
"Girls are too particular nowadays. Take my Bella--why, that girl's
had chances you wouldn't believe! But she always says to me, she says,
'Mamma, I ain't goin' to marry till Mr. Right comes along.'"
"That's just the same way with me."
"My Bella's had chances--not one, but six. You can ask anybody who knows
us in New York the chances that goil has had."
"I ain't in a hurry to take the first man that asks me, neither."
Mrs. Blondheim wrapped the forefinger of her left hand with mercerized
cotton thread, and her needle flashed deftly.
"What about the little Baltimore fellow that went away yesterday? I seen
he was keepin' you pretty busy."
"Aw, Mrs. Blondheim, can't a girl have a good time with a fellow without
gettin' serious?"
But she giggled in pleased self-consciousness and pushed her combs into
place--Miss Sternberger wore her hair oval about her face like Mona
Lisa; her cheeks were pink-tinted, like the lining of a conch-shell.
"My Bella always says a goil can't be too careful at these here summer
resorts--that's why she ain't out every night like some of these goils.
She won't go out with a young man till she knows he comes from nice
people."
Miss Sternberger patted the back of her hand against her mouth and
stifled a yawn.
"One thing I must say for my Bella--no matter where I take that goil,
everybody says what a nice, retirin' goil she is!"
"Bella does retire rather early," agreed Miss Sternberger in tones
drippingly sweet.
"I try to make her rest up in summer," pursued Mrs. Blondheim,
unpunctured. "You goils wear yourselves out--nothin' but beaus, beaus
all the time. There ain't a night in New York that my Bella ain't out
with some young man. I always say to her, 'Bella, the theayters ought to
give you a commission.'"
Miss Sternberger rocked.
"Where did you say you live in New York, Miss Sternberger?"
"West One Hundred and Eleventh Street."
"Oh yes--are you related to the Morris Sternbergers in the boys'-pants
business?"
"I think--on my father's side."
"Honest, now! Carrie Sternberger married my brother-in-law; and they're
doin' grand, too! He's built up a fine business there. Ain't this a
small woild after all!"
"It is that," agreed Miss Sternberger. "Why, last summer I was eatin'
three meals a day next to my first cousin and didn't know it."
"Look!" said Mrs. Blondheim. "There's those made-up Rosenstein goils
comin' out of the dinin'-room. Look at the agony they put on, would you!
I knew 'em when they were livin' over their hair-store on Twenty-thoid
Street. I wonder where my Bella is!"
"That's a stylish messaline the second one's got on, all right. I think
them beaded tunics are swell."
"If it hadn't been for the false-hair craze old man Rosenstein
wouldn't--"
Mrs. Blondheim leaned forward in her chair; her little flowered-silk
work-bag dropped to the floor. "There's Bella now! Honest, that Mr.
Arnheim 'ain't left her once to-day, and he only got here this morning,
too! Such a fine young man, the clerk says; he's been abroad six months
and just landed yesterday--and been with her all day. When I think of
the chances that goil had. Why, Marcus Finberg, who was down here last
week, was crazy about her!"
"Did you say that fellow's name was Arnheim?"
"Yes. 'Ain't you heard of the Arnheim models? He's a grand boy, the
clerk says, and the swellest importer of ladies' wear in New York."