A curtain of
spoondrift hung above that awful reef and almost shut from the view of
those ashore the open sea and what swam on it.
The old storekeeper reached the sands below the Shell Road. Scattered
in groups along the strand were the people of all classes and degrees
brought together by the word that a vessel was in peril. Here a group
of fishermen in guernseys and high boots, their sou'westers battened
down upon their heads. Yonder Bane and his fellow actors in natty
summer suits stood around the camera discussing with the director the
possibility of making a film of the scene. Farther away huddled a
party of women from the neighborhood, with shawls over their heads and
children at their skirts. Beyond them the people from the cottages on
the bluff were hurrying to the spot--women in silk attire and men in
the lounge suits that fashion prescribed for afternoon wear.
The storekeeper saw and appreciated all this. He stood squarely up to
the wind, the ends of the red bandana over his ears snapping in the
rifted airs, and shaded his eyes with his hand.
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