The Holiday Round | Page 2

should like to take this last opportunity," I said, "of telling you that
up till now I haven't enjoyed this early morning bathe one little bit. I
suppose there will be a notable moment when the ecstasy actually
begins, but at present I can't see it coming at all. The only thing I look
forward to with any pleasure is the telling Dahlia and Myra at breakfast
what I think of their cowardice. That and the breakfast itself.
Good-bye."
I got up and waded into the surf.
"One last word," I said as I looked back at him. "In my whole career I
shall never know a more absolutely beastly and miserable moment than
this." Then a wave knocked me down, and I saw that I had spoken too
hastily.

The world may be divided into two classes--those who drink when they
swim and those who don't. I am one of the drinkers. For this reason I
prefer river bathing to sea bathing.
"It's about time we came out," I shouted to Archie after the third pint.
"I'm exceeding my allowance."
"Aren't you glad now you came?" he cried from the top of a wave.
"Very," I said a moment later from inside it.
But I really did feel glad ten minutes afterwards as I sat on the beach in
the sun and smoked a cigarette, and threw pebbles lazily into the sea.
"Holbein, how brave of you!" cried a voice behind me.
"Good-morning. I'm not at all sure that I ought to speak to you."
"Have you really been taking the sea so early," said Myra as she sat
down between us, "or did you rumple each other's hair so as to deceive
me?"
"I have been taking the sea," I confessed. "What you observe out there
now is what I left."
"Oh, but that's what I do. That's why I didn't come to-day--because I
had so much yesterday."
"I'm a three-bottle man. I can go on and on and on. And after all these
years I have the most sensitive palate of any man living. For instance, I
can distinguish between Scarborough and Llandudno quite easily with
my eyes shut. Speaking as an expert, I may say that there is nothing to
beat a small Cromer and seltzer; though some prefer a Ventnor and
dash. Ilfracombe with a slice of lemon is popular, but hardly appeals to
the fastidious."
"Do you know," said Archie, "that you are talking drivel? Nobody
ought to drivel before breakfast. It isn't decent. What does Dahlia want
to do to-day, Myra?"

"Mr Simpson is coming by the one-thirty."
"Good; then we'll have a slack day. The strain of meeting Simpson will
be sufficient for us. I do hope he comes in a yachting cap--we'll send
him back if he doesn't."
"I told him to bring one," said Myra. "I put a P.S. in Dahlia's
letter--please bring your telescope and yachting cap. She thought we
could have a good day's sailing to-morrow, if you'd kindly arrange
about the wind."
"I'll talk to the crew about it and see what he can do. If we get
becalmed we can always throw somebody overboard, of course. Well, I
must go in and finish my toilet."
We got up and climbed slowly back to the house.
"And then," I said, "then for the heavy meal."

II.--BECALMED

"Well," said Dahlia, giving up the tiller with a sigh, "if this is all that
you and Joe can do in the way of a breeze, you needn't have worried."
"Don't blame the crew," said Archie nobly, "he did his best. He sat up
all night whistling."
"ARE we moving?" asked Myra, from a horizontal position on the
shady side of the mainsail.
"We are not," I said, from a similar position on the sunny side. "Let's
get out."
Simpson took off his yachting cap and fanned himself with a nautical
almanac. "How far are we from anywhere?" he asked cheerfully.

"Miles," said Archie. "To be more accurate, we are five miles from a
public-house, six from a church, four from a post-office, and three from
the spacious walled-in kitchen-garden and tennis-court. On the other
hand, we are quite close to the sea."
"You will never see your friends again, Simpson. They will miss you ...
at first ... perhaps; but they will soon forget. The circulation of the
papers that you wrote for will go up, the brindled bull-pup will be fed
by another and a smaller hand, but otherwise all will be as it was
before."
My voice choked, and at the same moment something whizzed past me
into the sea.
"Yachting cap overboard! Help!" cried Myra.
"You aren't in The Spectator office now, Simpson," said Archie
severely, as he fished with the boat-hook. "There is a time for
ballyragging.