2i8 ALONGSHORE iv 



and do the same right across the beach. Then 

 by selling all his herrings for a few coppers he 

 would gain enough for a pint or two, and queer 

 the fishermen's own retail market. The upshot 

 was that everybody refused to let him have fish 

 they could sell elsewhere, though he still was given 

 his so-called breakfast for lending a hand, because 

 help when a boat is coming ashore should never be 

 refused, lest one rough day it be needed very badly. 

 His existence thenceforward — unemployed, un- 

 trusted, unhelped — ^became the puzzle it is; yet 

 he did not seem to live a life of misery. One 

 sunny spring morning — the first in the year when 

 the air was soft and the sea really sparkled — I 

 found him lying on the beach, like a piece of old 

 rain-soaked sacking with human limbs protruding 

 from it, and passed the time of day with him. 

 He looked up luxuriously. 'Beautiful morning, 

 isn't it? Beautiful, very beautiful!' I am sure 

 he meant it, and have wondered ever since how 

 he could find it in him to do so. On another 

 occasion I saw him putting up decorations, holly 

 berries, and cotton-wool snowflakes in a public 

 bar as merrily as if he had a home and Christmas 

 of his own. He did it well, too, and tastefully; 

 and shouted cheerily with a jolly oath or two. 



