We loved at first sight. I had run down for a Sunday
afternoon to Garden Towers-by-the-Sea, a beautiful suburb which a number
of enterprising citizens had built up out of a sand waste to meet the
needs of the tired urban worker who, in his expensive and uncomfortable
city flat, finds himself longing for the life-giving breeze of the ocean
and the sight of a bit of God's open country. I was walking down the
main street of the village, wearing the loosely shaped and well-padded
garments that were then popular with young men, and carrying a set of
golf-sticks in my right hand and a bull terrier under my arm. Then I saw
her. She was sitting on the porch of the house which her father had
purchased for one-third of what its value became when the completion of
extensive rapid-transit improvements brought it within thirty-five
minutes of the New York City Hall. We loved and told each other. My
father, at first, insisted that before assuming the responsibilities of
marriage a man should be in receipt of a larger independent income than
I could boast of. But when Alice pleaded that she could be of help by
raising high-grade poultry for the urban market and organising
subscribers' clubs for the magazines, my father yielded.
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