bathing-suit had also spotted him. I saw her coming, like a ball down the bowling-ally. I managed to brush by Bud just in time to have him pass me his loot, wrapped up tight in a pocket handkerchief. Then I ambled on, with the package stowed inside my sleazy blouse-neck as I languidly pushed in my hairpins. No one, apparently was any the wiser. But that was where I missed my one good guess.
I sank down beside a cool-eyed young man in gray flannels. He was smiling at the scene with a detached sort of contentment. He even smiled at me. Bud, by this time, had his hat in his hand and his Lord Chesterfield heels together. He was bowing and explaining and urbanely requesting that he be searched, if need be, to put the poor woman's mind at rest. But I didn't like the looks of things.
"What are they doing to that poor man?" I inquired of the cool-eyed youth beside me. He wasn't so young, I noticed, as I first thought him.
"I rather fancy they're going to have the house-detective search him," was my companion's quiet reply. He scarcely looked at me.
"Isn't that ridiculous?" I ventured. The whole thing, you see, somewhat bored me.
"It's more than ridiculous—it's useless," said the man at my side.
