THREE girls stood on the beach watching the waves-the tireless, endless, continuous toss, break, splash; toss, break, splash! Always the same climbing combers smoothly traveling in from eternity, mounting their hills to the playful height of liquid summits, then rolling down in an ocean of foam, to splash on the beach into the most alluring of earth's play toys-the breakers. "And we thought the baby mountain at Bellaire beautiful-why this ocean is-well, it is simply bigger and grander than anything I have ever dreamed of," declared Grace. "No wonder the girls out in Chicago long to spend a summer at the sea shore." "I couldn't even find a word to describe it," admitted Cleo. "Doesn't it look like eternity all spilled out?" "And the roll is like the origin of noise," suggested Grace. "Now, Weasie, what do you see that looks like-like the original public service telephone company, or the first gas and electric plant? Don't you think those glints of color and sparks of foam may be our first sulphur springs?" "I never could claim a poetic imagination," admitted Louise, known to her chums as Weasie, "but I might see a family resemblance there to-well-to a first-class Turkish bath. There! How the mighty hath fallen! From the origin of noise and eternity spilled out, down to a mundane yet highly desirable Turkish bath! And girls, mine is the only practical description, for a bath it is to be, ours for all summer! Can you imagine it?"
