Rick Dalton sat on the sandy beach tossing white stones and bits of shell into the little waves that broke almost at his feet. The tide was just on the turn; soon it would come in, and the big, booming rollers would drive Rick farther up toward the dunes, where the wind was making a queer, whistling sound as it bent the long spears of saw-edged grass, whipping off venturesome, gray hoppers, that had boldly crawled up, perhaps to get a better view of the heaving ocean. "I don't care!" murmured Rick, but, from the tone of his voice, and the look on his face, one might have said that he did care, and very much, too, about something. But still Rick said: "I don't care!" And he said it over and …
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