n A SLEEPY TURN-OUT 93 



they are old visitors, asking the funniest questions 

 if they are new-comers, and all of them worrying 

 about the weather. Sometimes, when we tell them 

 it is likely to be foul, they appear to be offended 

 with us. As if we could help it! They have 

 been let loose from their cities for so short a time 

 that indeed we rather pity them. We like to see 

 them getting sunburnt. 



As with visitors in general, so with frights — 

 but more so. I sometimes think of them as spray 

 thrown at us haphazard by a seething sea of 

 humanity in the interior of the country. Fine 

 days they neglect. Foul days, when they are sure 

 to be wet and sea-sick, they want to go out, and 

 often have to be told that 'tisn't fit. If the 

 steamer has gone away crowded on a popular 

 trip, we know why the boats lie idle. When a 

 private boat, resplendent with paint and varnish 

 and brass fittings, shoves gaily off and suggests to 

 a score of people that they might be on the water, 

 we can understand that too. But there are subtler 

 suggestions at work. We may sit on the sea-wall 

 half a fine day, yarning, yawning, kicking our 

 heels, and remarking, 'Sleepy sort o' a turn-out, 

 this! Makes 'ee tireder 'n doing ort.' Then 

 suddenly some one asks for a boat; others follow; 



