See here!" and from a side pocket of the capacious oilskins he drew forth the basket of strawberries. These had suffered in transit, were bruised and crushed.

"What, strawberries? -- already?" exclaimed Mary, and eyed the berries dubiously. They were but faintly tinged.

"The very first to be had, my dear! I spied them on my way to the train. -- Come, children!"

But Mary barred the way . . . stretched out a preventing hand. "Not just now, Richard. Later on, perhaps. . . when they've had their dinners. Give them to me, dear."

Jocularly he eluded her, holding the basket high, out of her reach. "No, this is my treat! -- Now who remembers the old game? 'Open your mouths and shut your eyes and see what Jacko will send you!'"

The children closed in, the twins displaying rosy throats, their eyes faithfully glued to.

But Mary peremptorily interposed. "No, no, they mustn't! I should have them ill. The things are not half ripe."

"What? Not let them eat them? . . after the trouble I've been to, to buy them and lug them here? Not to speak of what I paid for them."

"I'm sorry, Richard, but -- ssh, dear! surely you must see . . . . " Mary spoke in a low, persuasive voice, at the same time frowning and making other wifely signals to him to lower his. (And thus engrossed did not feel a pull at her sleeve, or hear Cuffy's thin pipe: "I'll eat them, Mamma. I'd like to!" Now he knew it was Papa all right.) For several of their fellow passengers were watching and listening, and there stood Richard looking supremely foolish, holding aloft a single strawberry.

But he was too put out to care who saw or heard. "Well and good then, if they're not fit to eat -- not even after dinner! -- there's only one thing to be done with them. Overboard they go!" And picking up the basket he tossed it and its contents into the sea.