GOOD-BYE TO THE BEACH.
How we did hate to say good-bye to Willoughby! When I remembered my
feelings on our arrival and compared them to my feelings on departure, I
could hardly believe I was the same person or that it was the same
place. I no longer missed trees and grass; my eyes were accustomed to
the glare; and as for the dead monotony of sand and water: I had learned
to see infinite variety in the colour of the land and sea; no two days
had been alike, no two hours, indeed. Dum had taught me to see these
shifting effects, and now land and water and sky instead of seeming as
they had at first, like three hard notes that always played the same
singsong tune, were turned into three majestic chords that with changing
and intermingling could run the whole gamut of harmony.
We had spent a perfect month with so little friction that it was not
worth naming, and the friendship of the five girls was stronger than
ever. It would be impossible to sleep five on a porch, with cots so
close together that the covers had no room to slip between, without
finding out each other's faults and virtues.
Dee, for instance, who was an exceptionally rapid dresser, had a habit
of using more than her share of hair-pins. She always insisted that they
were hers or that she had not used them, and she would not take down her
hair to see. Then when she finally undressed at night and plaited her
thick, blue-black rope, she would be much abashed as we claimed our
share of hair-pins.
Mary Flannagan snored louder and more persistently than anyone I have
ever known; she also had a habit of talking in her sleep.
Annie Pore did take a little longer to arrange her ripe-wheat hair than
was quite fair where there was only one mirror and four other girls
trying to beautify themselves in front of it, but there is no telling
how long any of us would have taken to prink had we been as pretty as
Annie.
Dum's fault was putting on anybody's and everybody's clothes, especially
stockings, and then wild horses could not drag them off her when once
she had them on. She had a habit of undressing and throwing her clothes
on top of other people's. No matter where you put your clothes or how
carefully you folded them, you were sure to find something of Dum's on
top of them in the morning. I was careless enough myself, so this did
not bother me much, but it was a continual irritation to Dee, who was
much more orderly than Dum; and poor little Annie suffered greatly from
this habit of dear old Dum's. Annie had very few clothes and she was
painfully neat and careful with them, and I have seen her turn away her
head to hide her emotion when she found Dum's wet stockings, that she
had been clamming in the day before, balled up on top of her clean shirt
waist, and her muddy shoes resting fondly in the lap of her, Annie's,
last fresh white skirt.
I know I had many faults as a room-mate, but I believe my habit of
selfishly hogging the bathroom was the worst. I think people born and
brought up without plumbing are always piggy about bath tubs when once
they come in contact with them. I was irreverent enough to wish with all
my heart that Mr. Pore had my grandfather's hat-tub and that Bracken, my
beloved home, could have water put into it with an altogether, all-over,
all-at-once bath tub.
One last look through all the dressing rooms and porches, to be sure
that we were not leaving any valuables for the next tenants to find, a
lingering glance at the quiet, peaceful living-room where we had spent
so many delightful hours, and we went out of the front door as Mrs. Rand
came in the back, pail and broom in hand, to make ready for the incoming
hordes.
"She won't find no use in that there kitchen fer buckets an' brooms.
It's clean enough to ask any potentiate of Europe to eat off'n any spot
in it. The King of France himself could make no claimant of the
perdition of my kitchen," and Blanche's countenance began to take on the
purple hue of rage.
"Oh, don't mind her, Blanche! She just likes for a new tenant to find
her busy. Here come the new tenants, too! Isn't it a good thing we got
out so early in the morning?"
Sure enough, as Dee spoke there loomed on the horizon a large family,
coming to take possession of the cottage: a mother and father, four
boys, two little girls, two young coloured maids and an old mammy
carrying a baby. The last sound we heard as we hurried to catch the
trolley was Mrs. Rand berating them for coming so early in the morning
before she had time to clean up after the last tenants.
"Of course I know it is the fust of August, but the fust of August don't
mean the fust thing in the morning. Tenants is all alike, skeered to
death for fear they ain't going to git all that's coming to them. I
never understood when you come dickerin' for my house that you had three
niggers. I ain't partial to rentin' to folks that keeps nigger help. Now
these last folks what jest left didn't keep but one nigger, but----" but
what, we never knew, as we got out of earshot. Blanche's countenance
lost its purple hue as we settled ourselves on the Norfolk trolley. We
hoped that Mrs. Rand would realize that to make fifteen per cent. on an
investment means one must be willing to put up with many things.
The boys who had been at the camp met us in Norfolk and engineered us to
the pier to see Annie and Mary off on the James River boat, and then
took Tweedles and me to the station and put us on the train for
Richmond.
At the boat Sleepy shook hands with Annie until I really thought the
Captain would have to interfere. With his face a fiery red, I heard him
implore her to write to him. I don't know what she said, but I can't
fancy Annie in an adamant mood, and as I saw Sleepy give her his card
and hastily write something in a memorandum book, I have an idea she
granted his request.
Wink's moustache was getting quite bushy, but his manner was still
grand, gloomy and peculiar. He would walk by me, but would not talk to
me, although I made every effort to make myself agreeable. He tugged
viciously at his little moustache until I felt like telling him: "Kill
it, but don't worry it to death!"
Just before we got on the train he said to me in a cold and formal
tone: "May I write to you, Miss Allison?"
"Certainly, Mr. White!"
"But will you answer my letters?" He looked so sad and melodramatic that
I burst out laughing.
"Of course I will, Wink! Don't be so silly!"
The last I saw of him he was trying seemingly to pull his poor little
moustache out by the roots.