On the seventh of June David and Lucy went to the seashore, went by
the order of various professional gentlemen who had differed violently
during the course of David's illness, but who now suddenly agreed with
an almost startling unanimity. Which unanimity was the result of careful
coaching by Dick.

He saw in David's absence his only possible chance to go back to Norada
without worry to the sick man, and he felt, too, that a change, getting
away from the surcharged atmosphere of the old house, would be good for
both David and Lucy.

For days before they started Lucy went about in a frenzy of nervous
energy, writing out menus for Minnie for a month ahead, counting and
recounting David's collars and handkerchiefs, cleaning and pressing his
neckties. In the harness room in the stable Mike polished boots until
his arms ached, and at the last moment with trunks already bulging,
came three gift dressing-gowns for David, none of which he would leave
behind.

"I declare," Lucy protested to Dick, "I don't know what's come over him.
Every present he's had since he was sick he's taking along. You'd think
he was going to be shut up on a desert island."

But Dick thought he understood. In David's life his friends had had to
take the place of wife and children; he clung to them now, in his age
and weakness, and Dick knew that he had a sense of deserting them, of
abandoning them after many faithful years.