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Fiction by Joe Dvorak 
Oceanside, California 
As Mark Deane, instructor at City College, approached the 
breakwater near the yacht club entrance he saw Madge 
Rollens, wife of an associate, sitting on a stone seat built into 
the breakwater on the ocean side. Mark stopped. 
Looking up, her face brightened into a smile. She said 
lightly, “Why hello, Mark. What brings you here at this 
time?’ Then, turning, she beckoned to two boys near her. 
“It’s such a great day I thought I'd renew my acquaint- 
ance with the birds at the sandspit,”’ he replied. 
“I brought the boys because it JS such a nice day, but 
we stopped here. The walk is quite wet where the waves, 
and some kelp too, had washed over. You're carrying your 
field glasses, I see.”’ 
Mark Deane nodded. ‘Quite indispensible; my eyes are 
not what they used to be. The tide is receding now and the 
walk along the breakwater will be gradually drying. How 
are you, boys?”’ 
Roy Rollens acknowledged the greeting with, “Hello 
Mister Deane,’ but Tad just grinned in a rougish sort of 
way. His rubber sneakers already showed signs of wetness. 
“If you're planning to stay here a while Madge, I'd very 
much like to have the boys accompany me for a walk on 
the sand.” 
“Goodie!” yelled “Tad. 
“Gosh, mother,’ Roy said eagerly, ‘I have to identify 
one each of fifteen different groups of birds as part of my 
test for a merit badge in Bird Study. I sure could use Mr. 
Deane’s help. I’m a Second Class Scout now, Mr. Deane.’’ 
“Oh, certainly,’’ agreed Mrs. Rollens. “I'll wait here and 
absorb some of this nice sunshine. But be careful of that 
water and kelp, Tad.’’ She waved them on. 
fl fi id A 
Stepping gingerly so as to avoid the deeper puddles, the 
group of three walked along the inner edge of the break water 
which bordered the yacht basin. Many yachts of various 
sizes were moored at their slips. Occasionally a bird was 
perched on top of a tall mast. 
