"Ripping!" she cried. "Why, Eileen, you're perfectly topping."
Eileen's face flamed with delight. She was a challenging little
figure. None of them was accustomed to her when she represented
anything more substantial than curls and ruffles.
Linda reached for the telephone, called Gilman, and asked him if
he could go to the beach for supper that evening. He immediately
replied that he would. Then she called Peter Morrison and asked
him the same question and when Peter answered affirmatively she
told him to bring his car. Then she hastily put on her own field
clothes and ran to the kitchen to fill the lunch box. To Katy's
delight Linda told her there would be room for her and that she
needed her.
It was evening and the sun was moving slowly toward the horizon
when they stopped the cars and went down on the white sands of
Santa Monica Bay. Eileen had been complimented until she was in
a glow of delight. She did not notice that in piling things out
of the car for their beach supper Linda had handed her a shovel
and the blackened iron legs of a broiler. Everyone was loaded
promiscuously as they took up their march down to as near the
water's edge as the sands were dry. Peter and John gathered
driftwood. Linda improvised two cooking places, one behind a
rock for herself, the other under the little outdoor stove for
Katy. Eileen was instructed as to how to set up the beach table,
spread the blankets beside it, and place the food upon it.
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