Brainard held the hand that had gripped his and gazed with speechless joy into the beaming features of "Toodles" Brown. Then the surfman grinned as he said:
"Good old Toodles! Why, I have a cottage just down the beach beyond the Point. I'm too darned exclusive to mix up with this herd of get-rich-quick millionaires and gilded loafers like your fat self."
"Living down the beach in a cottage," gasped Mr. Brown. "I've been here two seasons and I swear I know every cottager on the island. I think you're a blessed old liar. Tell me all about yourself, Ashley. You've given us all the cold shake, you know."
Brainard explained with a boyish laugh:
"Well, you know I was down here shooting through Christmas vacation of Senior year, and I got the pineapple bee in my bonnet. There were millions in it, on paper. But Dad wanted me to cuddle down at a desk in town. I stood it for a year and you remember how I cussed. Then I said, 'The glad free life under the palms for mine,'—bucked clean over the
