He took in a deep
breath. "It's good!" he declared. "It's great! And the water looks better
yet. Shall we make it in a rush?"
He began to plunge down the long, broken sand-slope. Each step was worth
ten. Randolph followed--with judgment. He would not seem young enough to be
a competitor, nor yet old enough to be a drag. On the shore he wiped and
panted a little more--but not to the point of embarrassment, and still less
to the point of mortification. After all, he was keeping up pretty well.
At the bottom Cope, with his shoes full of sand, turned round and looked up
the slope down which his companion was coming. He waved his arms. "It's
almost as fine from here!" he cried.
The beach, once gained, was in sight both ways for miles. Not a human
habitation was visible, nor a human being. Two or three gulls flew a little
out from shore, and the tracks of a sandpiper led from the wet shingle to
the first fringe of sandgrass higher up.
"Where are the crowds?" asked Cope, with a sonorous shout.
"Miles behind," replied Randolph. "We haven't come this long distance to
meet them after all. Besides," he continued, looking at his watch, "this is
not the time of day for them.
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