people know what they want, and enjoy it when they get it."

"You needn't get excited about it," said Mr. King. "Nobody said it
wasn't commonplace, and glaringly vulgar if you like, and if you like to
consider it representative of a certain stage in national culture, I hope
it is not necessary to remind you that the United States can beat any
other people in any direction they choose to expand themselves. You'll
own it when you've seen watering-places enough."

After this defense of the place, Mr. King owned it might be difficult for
Mr. Forbes to find anything picturesque to sketch. What figures, to be
sure! As if people were obliged to be shapely or picturesque for the
sake of a wandering artist! "I could do a tree," growled Mr. Forbes, "or
a pile of boards; but these shanties!"

When they were well away from the booths and bath-houses, Mr. King saw in
the distance two ladies. There was no mistaking one of them--the easy
carriage, the grace of movement. No such figure had been afield all day.
The artist was quick to see that. Presently they came up with them, and
found them seated on a bench, looking off upon Brigantine Island, a low
sand dune with some houses and a few trees against the sky, the most
pleasing object in view.

Mrs. Benson did not conceal the pleasure she felt in seeing Mr. King
again, and was delighted to know his friend; and, to say the truth, Miss
Irene gave him a very cordial greeting.

"I'm 'most tired to death," said Mrs. Benson, when they were all seated.
"But this air does me good. Don't you like Atlantic City?"