We managed to get to Pawtucket, and there tried to stop the leak with liquid preparations, but by the time we reached Providence the tire was again flat and--as it proved afterwards--ruined.
Had it not been for the tire, Narragansett Pier would have been made that afternoon with ease; but there was nothing to do but wire for a new tire and await its arrival.
It was not until half-past three o'clock Monday that the new one came from New York, and it was five when we left for the Pier.
The road from Providence to Narragansett Pier is something more than fair, considerably less than fine; it is hilly and in places quite sandy.

For some distance out of Providence it was dusty and worn rough by heavy travel.
It was seven o'clock, dark and quite cold, when we drew up in front of Green's Inn.
The season was over, the Pier quite deserted.

A summer resort after the guests have gone is a mournful, or a delightful, place-- as one views it.

To the gregarious individual who seeks and misses his kind, the place is loneliness itself after the flight of the gay birds who for a time strutted about in gorgeous plumage twittering the time away; to the man who loves to be in close and undisturbed contact with nature, who enjoys communing with the sea, who would be alone on the beach and silent by the waves, the flight of the throng is a relief.

There is a selfish satisfaction in passing the great summer caravansaries and seeing them closed and silent; in knowing that the splendor of the night will not be marred by garish lights and still more garish sounds.
Were it not for the crowd, Narragansett Pier would be an ideal spot for rest and recreation.