The sailors were marching away across the wide green. Beyond them, between two buildings he could see the lake, rough and deep blue on this windy morning, darkened here and there by the passing shadows of flying clouds. A schooner came into view, beating into the wind, first in shadow, then in sunshine, cutting the blue water in a line of foam. She was doubtless some worn old tub of awkward lines and dingy sails, should you see her close; but here, with the stiff breeze to aid her, she sped along like a live thing, the bright sun changing her sails to silver. If fresh water was so blue as that, what would salt water be? If this wind could seem so sharp and bracing, if Lake Michigan could roll in such waves upon the beach, what would it be to feel the fresh sea breeze, and to hear the surf come thundering in on the shores of Appledore?
“What are you thinking about so hard, Billy?” one of his comrades asked suddenly, breaking sharply into his dream.
Billy drew a long breath, glanced up at the clock above the gateway and said,
“I was wondering how soon we can be getting back to the hotel. I have to make the
