The two boys had bathed their souls in the sea-breeze, and their eyes in light.

The tide of pleasure-loving humanity jostling against them had carried their feet to the “Lion Palace.” From there, seated at table and quenching their thirst with high-balls, they watched the feverish palpitations of the city’s life-blood pulsating in the veins of Coney Island, to which they had drifted from Brighton Beach.

Ernest blew thoughtful rings of smoke into the air.

“Do you notice the ferocious look in the mien of the average frequenter of this island resort?” he said to Jack, whose eyes, following the impulse of his more robust youth, were examining specimens of feminine flotsam on the waves of the crowd.