"Isn't it glorious, Taff?" cried Dick as he stood with his brother in
their little low-roofed bed-room, whose window overlooked the sea.
"Can't say that I like it," said Arthur languidly. "The place smells
horribly of fish."
"Pooh! That isn't fish. It's the sea-weed. It turns limp, and smells
because the weather's moist and stormy. There, come on. Father must be
ready now, and I want to go down and see the sea."
Uncle Abram came in just as they were about to start, and insisted upon
lending a couple of suits of oilskins, which he brought out of a room in
the roof, where he kept his stores, as he called them.
"Was Will's," he explained. "He growed out of 'em. Not much to look
at, sir," he added apologetically to Mr Temple, "but they'll keep out
the water. We like the sea, but we like to keep dry."
Arthur looked horribly disgusted, for his father gladly accepted the
hospitable offer, and he had to submit to being buttoned up in the stiff
garb that Will had cast off years before, even to the high boots.
Dick scuffled into his with delight, and tied the sou'-wester under his
chin, turning the next minute to see his brother, and stamp on the floor
with delight.
"Oh! look at Taff, father; he does look such a Guy Fawkes."
Arthur turned upon him fiercely, and it suddenly occurred to Dick that
he was in precisely the same costume; but he only laughed the more as,
well equipped to meet the storm, they started for the beach.
"It's ridiculous," said Arthur, in tones of disgust, as they walked down
towards the harbour under the lee of the houses. "There was no need to
put on these wretched stiff things."