"The week passed quickly for me, leaving but few definite impressions.
As I look back to it now I can see the long stretch of beach burning
in the fierce sunlight, the endless meadows, with the glimmer of water
in the distance, the dunes, the twisted cedars, the leagues of
scintillating ocean, rocking, rocking, always rocking. In the starlit
nights the curlew came in from the sand-bars by twos and threes; I
could hear their querulous call as I lay in bed thinking. All day long
the little ring-necks whistled from the shore. The plover answered
them from distant, lonely inland pools. The great white gulls drifted
like feathers upon the sea.

"One morning towards the end of the week, I, strolling along the
dunes, came upon Frisby. He was bill-posting. I caught him red-handed.

"'This,' said I, 'must stop. Do you understand, Mr. Frisby?'

"He stepped back from his work, laying his head on one side,
considering first me, then the bill that he had pasted on one of our
big boilers.

"'Don't you like the color?' he asked. 'It goes well on them black
boilers.'

"'Color! No, I don't like the color, either. Can't you understand that
there are some people in the world who object to seeing
patent-medicine advertisements scattered over a landscape?'

"'Hey?' he said, perplexed.

"'Will you kindly remove that advertisement?' I persisted.