"Of course you have," assents the Proprietor most sympathetically.
"And you'd like to rest as much as possible to-night after your
journey. You'd like a table to yourself a little later. No--no--no
thanks, I'm only too delighted."
And, so saying, the kind Proprietor leaves me to see to the
hundred-and-one things he has to do to-day, only stopping the Boots,
who now arrives with the double-caped waterproof I had sent him for,
to point me out to him, and to tell him to order a private table
for me in the _salle a manger_ "at--at?"--he queries--and I reply by
inquiring if I may fix it for 7.45, as the room will be quieter then.
"Certainly," says Mr. NORFOLK CAPES, without making the slightest
difficulty about it. Then, turning to Boots, he says, "7.45,"
whereupon Boots repeats the mystic formula. And thus 'tis arranged.
Delightful gardens of Hotel. Stroll out on to cliff. Beautiful air,
not the least enervating. On the contrary, refreshing. Returning
later on to dress, I see the _salle a manger_ full to overflowing.
The Medicals are all feeding well and wisely, as Medicals ought to
do. A pleasant company. Only a few of the younger and idler spirits
remain when I sit down to my dinner about eight. Excellent _cuisine_.
Couldn't be better. Salmon-trout from Christchurch, Poole pickles,
beef from Boscombe, Hampshire ham with Bournemouth beans.
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