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Updated: June 11, 2025
His praise of his nearest neighbor whose name proclaimed his Cape Cod nativity made me think well not only of his neighbor, but of him. There were forty-two Portuguese families in Truro, he said. "There are more than that in Provincetown?" I suggested. He shrugged his shoulders. "Yes, about half the people." And pretty good people they are, if such as I saw were fair representatives.
More than ten days passed in this way, and they were beginning to wonder why the Goodman did not return. The Captain had come back from Provincetown and had been obliged to go on to Boston without waiting for him, and there was no knowing when the Lucy Ann would appear again in Plymouth Harbor.
They had fair weather and light breezes all the way to New Harbour and from there, the next day, around the tip of the Cape to Provincetown. They dropped anchor off the yacht club landing at Provincetown at four o'clock Friday afternoon and went ashore as soon as the boats were berthed and sought the post-office.
Studied art in Denver, Boston, and Paris. First short story, "On the Ebb Tide," Success, 1910. Author of "Storm." Lives in Provincetown, Mass. *Ching, Ching, Chinaman. Devil of a Fellow, A. Free. *Ked's Hand. Point of Honor, A. *White Hands. *The Woman at Seven Brothers. Educated at University of California, Berlin, Heidelberg, Leipzig, Paris, and Sorbonne. Married, 1891.
"As for instance that there's less of the fortuitous in this meeting than appears upon the surface." "Then you knew I was on the sandbar?" Stuart Farquaharson shook his head. "I didn't even know that you were at Chatham. I just got here this morning driving through to Provincetown. But I did know that you were on Cape Cod, and that is why I'm on Cape Cod."
I'm going up to Crowninshields' this minute to tell Jerry he can count on me from July until October." "You're crazy." "Wait and see." "I know what I'll see," was the sharp retort. "I shall see all those puppies kicking up their heels and racing off to Provincetown, and Mr. Crowninshield insisting that you either find them and bring them back or pay him what they cost him."
No answer. In half an hour a thing rode by the watcher on the sands and fell with a crash beside him a boat bottom up: his son's. Next day broke clear, with new snow on the ground. In his house at Provincetown, Captain Breeze was astir betimes, for his son Ezekiel, his grandson Josiah, and all other relatives who were not at the front with Washington were coming for the family reunion.
"I can't say where I lost it. I didn't think it was in Provincetown though. I made sure it was some place between Harwichport and Orleans, and I had my man post notices in both those places." "And what was it you lost?" inquired Mr. Milford politely.
He liked to think that he had great tact with women, and he was sure Verena would be struck with this quality in reading, in the note he presently addressed her in reply to her own, that he had determined to take a little run to Provincetown.
Writing of the dunes, which seem always about to overwhelm Provincetown, he says, "Some say that while the Government is planting beach grass behind the town for the protection of the harbor, the inhabitants are rolling the sand into the harbor in wheel-barrows, in order to make houselots," which seems characteristic of the beach grass, the harbor and the Cape Cod spirit of making the most of real estate opportunities to this day.
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