It was good to be here again in this little old sleepy hostel by the
sea. Hostel I say, though it spelt itself without an "s" and even
placed a circumflex above the "o." It made no other pretension. It
was very cozy indeed.
I had been here just a year before, in mid-February, after an attack of
influenza. And now I had returned, after an attack of influenza.
Nothing was changed. It had been raining when I left, and the
waiter--there was but a single, a very old waiter--had told me it was
only a shower. That waiter was still here, not a day older. And the
shower had not ceased.
Steadfastly it fell on to the sands, steadfastly into the iron-gray
sea. I stood looking out at it from the windows of the hall, admiring
it very much. There seemed to be little else to do. What little there
was I did. I mastered the contents of a blue hand-bill which, pinned
to the wall just beneath the framed engraving of Queen Victoria's
Coronation, gave token of a concert that was to be held--or, rather,
was to have been held some weeks ago--in the town hall for the benefit
of the Life-Boat Fund. I looked at the barometer, tapped it, was not
the wiser. I wandered to the letter-board.
These letter-boards always fascinate me. Usually some two or three of
the envelops stuck into the cross-garterings have a certain newness and
freshness. They seem sure they will yet be claimed. Why not? Why
SHOULDN'T John Doe, Esq., or Mrs. Richard Roe turn up at any moment? I
do not know. I can only say that nothing in the world seems to me more
unlikely. Thus it is that these young bright envelops touch my heart
even more than do their dusty and sallowed seniors. Sour resignation
is less touching than impatience for what will not be, than the
eagerness that has to wane and wither. Soured beyond measure these old
envelops are. They are not nearly so nice as they should be to the
young ones. They lose no chance of sneering and discouraging. Such
dialogues as this are only too frequent:
A Very Young Envelop: Something in me whispers that he will come to-day!
A Very Old Envelop: He? Well, that's good! Ha, ha, ha! Why didn't he
come last week, when YOU came? What reason have you for supposing
he'll ever come now? It isn't as if he were a frequenter of the place.
He's never been here. His name is utterly unknown here. You don't
suppose he's coming on the chance of finding YOU?