For a moment they were all silent considering this question.  “By Jove,” Ralph burst out finally, “what are we all sitting here like dopes for?  Those trunks are full of women’s clothes.  Did you ever see a woman yet who wouldn’t fall for ribbons and laces?”

“Good shot!” exclaimed Honey.  “Let’s go through the women-truck to-morrow and pick out some things that would please a girl.  We’ll put them on the beach a good distance off from us, so they’ll not think it’s a trap.  If we do that every day for a week or two they’ll get accustomed to walking round while we’re working.  It’s our play to take no notice of them whatever.”

“That’s the answer,” Ralph said in a tone of satisfaction.

Immediately after breakfast, the next morning, they made for the file of trunks so contemptuously rejected the first week of their stay.  Honey, who was always head and shoulders in front of the others, broke open the first one.

“By jiminy, boys!” he shouted, seizing something that lay on top and waving it over his head, “we’ve got them on the go-off.  By George,” he went on, lowering his voice, “I bet that belonged to some darned pretty woman.”

The men crowded about him; and, as they examined his find, their faces softened.  Nothing could more subtly have emanated femininity.  It was a hand-mirror of silver.  Two carved Cupids held the glass between them.  Their long wings made the handle.

“Put it down there on the hard sand,” Ralph said, “where they can’t fail to see it.”

“Hold!” exclaimed Honey in a tone of burlesque warning.  “There must be five mirrors.  He knows nothing of women who thinks that one mirror may be divided among five girls.  I hope Lulu cops this one.”

His companions did not laugh.  Apparently they were impressed with the sapience of his remark.  They searched the trunks until they had gathered the five that Honey demanded.  They placed them in a row just above the high-water line.  The mirrors caught the sunlight, reflected it.

“They won’t do a thing to those girls,” said Honey.  There was the glee in his voice of a little boy who is playing a practical joke.

The girls came in a group in the middle of the afternoon.

“They’ve spotted them already,” said Honey.

“Trust a woman and a looking-glass.”

The discovery ruined discipline; it broke ranks; the five girls flew high, flew low, flew separated, flew grouped, crowded about Julia, obviously asking her advice.  Obviously she gave it; for following her quick, clear tones of advice came a confused chattering — remonstrance.  Then Peachy, Clara, Chiquita, and Lulu dropped a little.  Julia alone came no nearer.  She alone showed no excitement.

The men meantime watched.  They could not, as they had so loftily resolved, pretend to ignore the situation.  But they kept silent and still.  Once or twice the girls glanced curiously in their direction.  But in the main they ignored them.  Descending in big, slow, cautious, sliding curves, they circled nearer and nearer the sand.