CHAPTER XVI
ONE ROAD TO PALM BEACH
One of the Alice-in-Wonderland fruits of the
pineapple ridge which lies to the westward of the
Indian River is the papaw. I never see it but I
expect to find the walrus and the carpenter sitting
under it engaged in animated argument.
Especially is this the case with one variety, imported,
they tell me, from the West Indies. Here
is a stalk that comes up out of the ground as a
milkweed might, green and succulent till it over-*tops
a man's head, spreading from this single
stem somewhat milkweed-like leaves from four
to eight inches long. Nodding from the axils of
these leaves come the flowers, followed by the
fruit which is the grotesque climax of the whole,
for here, stuck close on this succulent, head-high
stem, is a muskmelon, or something just as good,
so far as appearance goes.
The thick, green rind becomes yellow on ripening and even when you twist the fruit off and hold it in your hand the muskmelon thought remains uppermost. You may taste this goblin-
