Life — July 10, 1913 — page 30: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

HE desire to be seen on the beach in a bathing suit is not so strong in me as it once was. An acquaintance under the guise of friendship lured me out to his beach one day, saying that he had full rights to the most popu- lar ocean in the worli. I had heard his ocean spoken highly of, and I accepted. He took me down and showed me the ocean and talked it up as if he wanted to sell it. I held back about going in, saying that I had no suit, but he said that he had one that would fit me ex- actly. The owner always thinks that his castaway suit will be an exact fit. After a time he got it from the base- ment. I found that a party of mice, to get the salt, had dined on it with great gusto. From the holes in the suit it was casy to sce that there had been much wine and conviviality and that the party had not broken up until a very late hour, The suit had never been planned for a person of my general architecture. Roughly speaking I am fashioned on the lines of the Woolworth Building, with a roomy balcony effect about the thirty- sixth floor, The suit had been planned for a blond youth in the grammar school. The had never intended that the suit should be worn again. It was mostly a wide selection of holes tied together with yars I picked up the suit between my foretiager and thumb, and shook it out. The waist would have been tight on a doll and the trousers looked like a pair of pulscwarmers. I tried to find a place to get into the suit. The suit stuck together like the top of a wet paper bag and when I used force it came apart in fragments. Some- times I would think that 1 was about to get the suit on when I would find that it was one of the fragments. At last I got part way but I found that my arms were sticking through where a couple of mice had dined. Finally I felt that I had the suit on, and looked into the mirror. I drew back in startled surprise, There were two foreign marks on my body. One I recognized after a moment as being the spot where my collar button rubbed, but the other was larger. It was a dark splotch as if I had run into the bureau a few nights before. But on putting up the window blind I saw that it was the bathing suit. mice 2L FEE: Bathing in a Borrowed Suit Under tie most favorable circum- stances in a bathing suit I don’t live long in the memories of strangers. My photograph taken by a shore photog- tapher is never put up as one of the exhibition pictures, although I have never requested any of them to refrain. Rarely or never docs a cluster of people gather around me on the sands, talking eagerly and excitedly about my figure with bursts of involuntary applause run- ning over them. My friends were waiting on the front lawn for me to join them. I stood quailing in my bedroom, hating to go among them, although as a general rule when it concerns going among the ladies I am not much of a quailer. Finally I took my courage by the arm and walked out into the yard. The women were chatting and smiling until they saw me, when they suddenly closed the conversation and gazed far out over the tue horizon of the salty deep to a dim, distant sail. The ocean looked only a couple of blocks aw but we walked for miles and miles, At last we arrived, at the ocean. I was the cyndsure of all eyes. I had never been a cynosure before, and kad never before known that I had talent in that line, but now I was a great success as a cynosure. But when some rude boys came up and made coarse jokes about the slashed effect on the hips I ran out and plunged into the ocean. But I plunged too hard. My suit was never made for plunging. When I came up there was little on me besides the sea foam and a spirit of jollity. The latter was feigned. The mice had dined better than they knew. Only a few scattered shreds were left to tell where once a full suit had stood. Something told me to keep to deep water. After a while my friends called me and insisted that I come ashore and play in the sand with them, but [ an- swered that I loved the ocean too well and wanted its sheltering arms around me. I had to have something around me. I must get back to the house and into my clothes, I worked down the beach until I was out of sight of my friends and made a break. But it was in my suit. As I hastened homeward it was all I could do to keep a few loyal shreds on me. I passed the post-office, but I didn't inquire about the mail. Even had I known there was a special delivery let- ter there for me I would not have gone in and asked for it. Many people were out walking that evening. But I did not join any of the parties. I do not remember now that any of them made advances. My mind was not on walking. I was inter- ested only in running. I was dressed more for running than walking. A large dog that I had never seen before rushed at me. I turned around and gave him one lowering look, but he evidently did not catch it, for he came straight on. I cast around for a rock to use for something that I had in mind, but somebody had removed all the desirable ones. So I turned my back to the ‘ill-bred creature and started on. However, this did not cut him the way I had hoped. Instead he came on with renewed interest. I did not know who the owner of this dog was and did not want him to follow me up, but thi: seemed his intention, although he had received no encouragement on my part. I then tricd to lose him, but he kept his head quite well. He kept it open, too, with loud, discordant barking that jarred on my sensitive ear. I gained the yard and plunged against the door of the house, but the door was locked. I ran around to the rear door, but the same thoughtful person had been to that. Then I ran around the house again, the dog gaining steadily. I had exercised the dog so much that I was out of breath, but still I kept on my de- termined way. At last I found a base- ment door, dived in and shut it after me. I took particular pains to do that. I remained in the basement until my friend returned. Although time hung heavily on my hands I did not stroll out and chat with the townspeople. In the course of time my friend returned and looked at me strangely. “Aren't you feeling well?” pityingly. “No,” I answered sadly. kind of run down.” “But why did you get in this base- ment?" he asked in a worried way. “Why?” I asked numbly. “Tt isn’t my basement,” he returned. “Tt belongs to the man next door!" Of late I get all the bathing I want with a sponge behind closed doors. I would rather have a sponge at my back, that had been in the family a long time, than a strange dog similarly located, with whose habits I am not familiar. Homer Croy. he asked “T feel comicbooks.com