Daughter insisted on Palm Beach. So mother got
a lot of pretty clothes for daughter, and father purchased several yards
of green and yellow railroad tickets, and off they went. They arrived at
Palm Beach. They walked the miles of green carpeted corridor. They were
dazed--as every one must be who sees them for the first time--at the
stunning size of the hotels. They looked upon the endless promenade of
other visitors. They went to the beach at bathing hour, to the cocoanut
grove at the time for tea and dancing, in wheel chairs through the
jungle trail and _Reve d'Ete_, to the waiters' cake walk in the
Poinciana dining room, to the concert at the Breakers, to the palm room,
and to the sea by moonlight; everywhere they went they saw people,
people, people: richly dressed people, gay people, people who knew
quantities of other people; yet among them all was not one single being
that they had ever seen before. After several days of this, father met a
man he knew--a business friend from Akron. A precious lot of good that
did! Why didn't father know the two young men who sat last night at the
next table in the dining room? Even those two would have done just now.
Clearly they had been mad to know her too, for they were likewise
feeling desolate. Perhaps mother can get father to scrape up an
acquaintance with them.
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