But Hauman was too busy for joking or perhaps the women were farthest from his mind. He was out of his clothes in no time, but careful to leave them in a neatly folded pile on the chair. Out of a kind of furtive curiosity, Grandin could not keep from stealing a glance or two at the exposed and splendid physique. It was heroic: Hercules, Hector, a younger Odysseus, seen as they were never seen in the storybooks, and made modern by the startling whiteness of the hips above and below the tan. While he did not display himself exhibitionistically, Hauman nevertheless stalked about in the nude as if he were alone, apparently completely unconscious that his was a figure to be looked at. In the act of pulling on his khaki shorts, which were like old basketball trunks, he discovered something out the window.

“What’s that down there, John, few miles along the beach?” He strapped his waist in tight with the canvas belt. “Looks like Nissen huts to me.”

Grandin stepped to the window. Hauman put a hand on his shoulder and they looked out.

Three or four tubular convex structures spread themselves in the sand, very near to the shore, some distance off. They looked like dark silos which had been split down the middle and the two halves laid horizontally on the ground. Smoke rose from several small chimneys.

“Must be a Coast Guard station,” Hauman said. He bent down and picked up his boots. “Better wear my boondockers to the beach. Looks like a long walk.”

“It is, rather, but I’ve noticed there’s a broad path half the way, and the rest is sand.”

“I’ll wear ’em anyway. Anything I hate is to walk barefooted in a lot of sand.—You should see us out at the ’Canal, John. We run around naked, most of the time, but nobody’d think of going without their boondockers.”

He stepped into one of his shoes and then leaned on the small dressing table while he pulled on the other. There was a sharp cracking sound, followed by the brittle smash of glass.

“Clifford Hauman,” Billie called from the bathroom, “what have you broken now!”

“Nothing, honey,” he answered plaintively, “now never mind, everything’s all right.” He turned to Grandin and ducked his head guiltily. “Sorry, sir. Look what I’ve done.”

The leg of the dressing table had given way under his weight and the small shaded lamp had tipped over, breaking the bulb.

“It’s nothing, forget it.”

“I’ll be glad to pay for it, sir.”

“Nonsense.”

“Well, gee.” He smiled. “You’re darn nice about it, John.”

From the bathroom Billie called: “Can we come out?”

“Come ahead, honey,” Hauman said, “we’re ready.”