The Open Air 



plot of beach crammed with everything that ordinarily 

 annoys the ears and offends the sight. 



Yet you hear nothing and see nothing; it is per- 

 fectly comfortable, perfectly jolly and exhilarating, a 

 preferable spot to any other. A sparkle of sunshine 

 on the breakers, a dazzling gleam from the white 

 foam, a warm sweet air, light and brightness and 

 champagniness ; altogether lovely. The way in 

 which people lie about on the beach, their legs this 

 way, and their arms that, their hats over their eyes, 

 their utter give-themselves-up expression of attitude is 

 enough in itself to make a reasonable being contented. 

 Nobody cares for anybody; they drowned Mrs. 

 Grundy long ago. The ancient philosopher (who had 

 a mind to eat a fig) held that a nail driven into wood 

 could only support a certain weight. After that 

 weight was exceeded either the wood must break or 

 the nail come out. Yonder is a wooden seat put 

 together with nails a flimsy contrivance, which defies 

 all rules of gravity and adhesion. One leg leans one 

 way, the other in the opposite direction; very lame 

 legs indeed. Careful folk would warn you not to sit 

 on it lest it should come to pieces. The music, I 

 suppose, charms it, for it holds together in the most 

 marvellous manner. Four people are sitting on it, 

 four big ones, middle-aged, careful people; every 

 moment the legs gape wide apart, the structure 

 visibly stretches and yields and sinks in the pebbles, 

 yet it does not come down. The stoutest of all sits 

 actually over the lame legs, reading his paper quite 

 oblivious of the odd angle his plump person makes, 

 quite unconscious of the threatened crack crash! 

 It does not happen. A sort of magnetism sticks it 

 together; it is in the air; it makes things go right 

 that ought to go wrong. Awfully naughty place ; no 



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