"A nice gentleman, 'e is. Been 'ere in this 'ouse every year for the
last five years. 'E comes early, about May, and sometimes again in
October."
"It is good to be Mr. William Henry Sawyer, Esquire, of the Home
Office," I said. I am a fairly truthful man as men go, and I never spoke
a truer word than that, but that knowledge only came to me later.
I was delighted with Mr. Joseph Scorer, and with his receipt in my
pocket and my two pounds in his, I went home on the Monday morning
triumphant, and on the Monday evening whistled myself into the bosom of
my family to the tune of "See, the conquering hero comes."
[Illustration: "I WAS SURPRISED TO SEE A HEAP OF LUGGAGE."]
I gave a detailed description of my adventures to my receptive family
circle, and when my wife heard Mr. Scorer's last message, "I will come
over the day before you are coming in, and have the place put in order,
and will have a fire on in the kitchen for you," she labelled him
"treasure," and vowed we would keep on going there every year.
"I wish I had remembered to ask you to tell him to get in some coals,
and milk, and bread," she said, regretfully.
"I did," I answered, triumphantly. "He suggested we would want them, and
I paid him for them, and for oil for the lamps too, so that's all
right."
"You have done well," said my wife, and I thought so myself.
August 12th found us duly landed at Eastnor station, and furtively
raking out our belongings from the piles of other people's. At last they
were all collected, and I chartered a carriage and a porter's cart to
convey us and our luggage to Sandybank Cottage.
Mr. Joseph Scorer met us at the door, and we forthwith took possession.
The kitchen fire was lighted, the coal was there, and the milk, and the
bread, and oil.
Everything was as nice as it could be.
The luggage was carried in, and we settled down to a month's solid
enjoyment and undisputed possession of our new abode.
Mr. Scorer was solicitous of our comfort. He altered the inventory in
one or two minor points, in respect of articles broken by our
predecessors. He dug enough potatoes for next week's dinners, and cut
two plump cabbages. He collected his L4 15s., half the balance of the
rent, and departed, followed by the blessings of the entire family, save
those members who were already knee deep in the ocean just the other
side of the garden patch.
"This is simply splendid," said my wife, beaming at me in the way I
like; "it seems almost too good to be true."
She was right.
Next morning was magnificent. My wife went out to buy up the town. All
the rest of us plunged into the sea, except the servant, Amelia Blatt,
who was rapidly converting herself into a negress over the intricacies
of the strange little range in the kitchen.
One of the advantages of Sandybank Cottage was that from its proximity
to the beach you could use your bedroom as a bathing machine, assume
your marine costume therein, skip across the lawn, and be into the water
with a hop and a jump.
It was simply delightful, really almost too good to be true, as my wife
had said.
We all had a glorious bathe and a scamper on the sands, and then trooped
up to the cottage to dress. As we came up over the lawn I was surprised
to see a great heap of luggage, and two bicycles, lying around,
evidently all just discharged from a couple of retreating carriages.
[Illustration: "IT WAS LUDICROUS STANDING THERE IN A BATHING SUIT."]
I am an unusually modest man, and it was rather over-facing. There were
several ladies in the party and an elderly gentleman. They all turned
and watched our advent. The ladies looked put out at something. I feared
it might be at myself in my bathing costume. However, my foot was on my
native heath, so to speak, which was more than could be said of theirs,
so I put on as bold a face as could legitimately be expected of a modest
man in nothing but a bathing costume, and went forward. The old
gentleman also seemed disturbed, but he disguised his feelings to the
best of his power, and addressed me suavely.
"Been enjoying a last bathe?" he asked.
There was just a hint of "What the deuce do you mean by it, sir?" in his
tone.
"I beg your pardon?" I said.
"Couldn't refrain from one more dip, I suppose?" he said again, with a
forced smile. "Might I ask what time you are leaving? We understood--"
"Leaving?" I said, with some force. "Why, we only got here yesterday."
He gazed at me in blank astonishment, the ladies also.
"Oh," he said, soothingly, "there must be some mistake."
"I am not aware of any," I answered, somewhat brusquely.
It was ludicrous, standing there in a bathing suit, discussing the
matter under the gaze of three pairs of outraged female eyes, and a
blazing sun.
"But, my good sir," said the old gentleman, "I have taken this
cottage--it is Sandybank Cottage, is it not?" he asked.
"It is."
"Mr. Joseph Scorer's?"
"Yes."
[Illustration: "A PARTY OF THREE OLD MAIDEN LADIES, WITH THREE DOGS AND
TWO CANARIES."]