On the Boardwalk at Conley Island barefooted boys were screeching, their feet, their feet were being scorched by the burning wood planks. It was four-thirty of a mid-week afternoon, but still the sun was melting the Boardwalk strollers.

Lev Eldon, nearly fifty, with dry grey hair, and a little, dry, grey mustache, was feeling stranded because finally the summer had begun. He clacked along, his briefcase hitting monotonously against his leg.