Chapter VI A Page of Unwritten History

* * * * * Palm Beach, Florida, is one of the pleasantest spots on earth—for about a fortnight. After that you are conscious of an intense desire to get up and go out and do something useful and grubby—trim coal, or scrape a boiler, or sweep a crossing—anything, in fact, which will relieve you from the sensation of being an entirely useless cumberer of the ground. But during that fortnight, provided that you are in genuine need of a holiday and are staying there at someone else’s expense,…