I
demurred. The fishermen already complained that the south-easterly gales
were scouring their beach away. Moreover, as I explained to Miriam, ere
long it would devolve upon me to carry the dressing-case, Billie himself
and--as likely as not--the deck-chairs and the tea-basket. Why increase my
burdens by a hundredweight or so of Easthaven beach?
It ended by her admitting I was perfectly right, and--by Billie filling his
pail with pretty pebbles.
I still had that feeling of depression when we returned to our rooms for an
early luncheon (there's nothing I so detest); after which we discovered
that Miriam thought I had told the man to call for the luggage at 12.45,
while I thought that Miriam had told the man to call for the luggage at
12.45.
And then we had to change twice, and the trains were crowded, and Miriam
insisted on looking at _The Daily Dressmaker_, and Billie insisted on not
looking at _Mother Goose_.
At Liverpool Street station I kept my temper in an iron control while
pointing out to quite a number of taxi-men the ease with which Billie's
pram and Billie's cot and Billie's bath could be balanced upon their
vehicles. But the climax came when, Miriam having softened the heart of one
of them, we were held up in a block at Oxford Circus, and Billie, _a
propos_ of nothing, drooped his under lip and broke into a roar--
"Billie wants the sea-side! Billie wants Mr.
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