This is the nineteenth day that I have had my face glued to the
window-pane watching for the promised "break" in the weather that is
to enable me to get a little of the benefit of the sea-air of this
place that my doctor assures me is "to do such wonders for me in
a week that I shall not know myself." What it might do for me if
I could only get hold of it, I can only guess, but the result of
the persistent rain has been slowly but surely to empty the Grand
Esplanade, the drawing and dining-room floors of which announce on
colossal cards that the whole twenty-four establishments are "to let,"
with the result that all the recreation that Torsington-on-Sea affords
has formed a sort of conspiracy to drive me mad with amusement.
The trombone of the town band steals a march on the rest, commencing
as early as eight o'clock in the morning with a very powerful
rendering of "_Il Balen_," who is succeeded in turn by the discarded
Christy Minstrel with the damaged concertina. Then comes a Professor
in black velvet spangled tights, who insists, spite my shaking my
head at him dolefully through the drizzling mist, in going through
a drawing-room entertainment for the amusement and edification of a
Telegraph-office Boy, who has apparently only one message to deliver,
and it is to be presumed finds time hang in consequence a little
heavily upon his hands. Spite my menacing and almost fierce refusal to
appear at my window, however, he has the hardihood to knock, and ask
for a "trifle." This, if I could only ensure that he would devote it
to the purchase of a place on the coach to Barminster, I would gladly
give him; but knowing that it will only enable him to make an early
breakfast of cold gin and bitters at the "Boar's Head and Anchor,"
I shake my fist at him, as much as to say, "I am feeble I admit,
and do not, I dare say, look as if there were much fight in me!
But, by Jove! there is such a thing as the law, even, I suppose, at
Torsington-on-Sea! You had best not tempt me too far, my fine fellow."
His reply to this is characteristic; at least, I think so. For within
twenty minutes the discarded Christy Minstrel, the Silvery-voiced
Tenor, some performing dogs, the whole of the Town Band, the Man with
the Bath-chair and general crowd of "loafers," assemble opposite my
dining-room windows, braving south-west wind (half a gale of it),
and a general downpour, leaden sky, and indications of "being in" for
"another day of it."
I feel quite convinced that the Professor in velvet tights has rapidly
whipped up the whole place with some such sentence as "No. 27 on the
Grand Esplanade. Give the Old Bloke there a taste. He wants waking up
a bit!"
I write to my Medical Adviser. One day is much like another here,
I cannot say I go forward very fast. I admit the weather has been
against me here; still, things might, I think, have been better.
Take this, for instance, as a typical day for an invalid. It is hardly
the sort of place to "pick up" in; at least, so it strikes me.
9 A.M.--Am disturbed after a windy night, which has threatened, to
blow the front of the house (one of the twenty-four commanding a fine
sea-view "both ways") off, and in my first and only turn of refreshing
sweet sleep, by the Silvery-voiced Tenor, who persists, spite
entreaties, requests, and finally threats, to move a little further
away, or curtail a singularly florid version of "_Fra Poco_" under
eighteen-pence. On, at length, threatening to send for the police
if he declines to desist, he meets the announcement with shouts of
derisive laughter, a fact which, Mrs. COBBLES, my landlady, is kind
enough to explain, indicates that "The Policeman," not retiring till
half-past one that morning, he will not be available, even for a
murder, before two o'clock in the afternoon. I compromise the matter,
therefore, by sending out sixpence to the Silvery-voiced Tenor,
begging Mrs. COBBLES to give as heartrending a description as possible
of my exhausted condition, which has the effect of wringing from the
MARIO of Torsington an expression of sympathy, and an intimation that
he will finish "_Fra Poco_" round the corner.
[Illustration]
But ill news travels apace, and within ten minutes the discarded
Christy Minstrel with the concertina that is somewhat out of order,
and the Town Band (reduced to three), as if by common consent,
together with the man in black velvet spangled tights, a short
walking-stick, wash-hand basin, and small square of carpet, draw up,
as if by magic, before Mrs. COBBLES' lodgings, and with the un-earning
increment of Torsington-on-Sea as audience, commence a simultaneous
_matinée_ for my special benefit at twenty-five minutes and a half to
ten.
Mrs. COBBLES' assurance that the poor gentleman has "not closed his
eyes all night" seems only to stimulate them to further effort. As
I feel that even twenty minutes of this recreation will certainly
drive me mad, I beg Mrs. COBBLES to send the boy who comes to clean
the boots and knives to disturb the One Policeman in his first sweet
slumber. If nothing else will stir him, he is to be. informed that No.
34 on the Esplanade is on fire, or if that fails, he may throw in 33
and 35 as well. In fact, he need not be particular as to facts, but
_return with the Policeman he must!_ There is a good-sized crowd
assembled on the Esplanade, but as I am attired in a scarlet flannel
dressing-gown, white nightcap, and am arguing the Act of Parliament
with the deserted Christy Minstrel with some warmth, it may account
for it.
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