t for throwing off the shackles of convention,"
remarked Mother, "but nothing would induce me to undress in a thing like
that."

"But when it's erected it's perfectly solid----"

"So am I," said Mother, "and I like room to turn round. No, Ernest, I am
as fond of fresh air as anyone--you know I always have my bedroom window
open at least two inches at night--but air is not everything. Give me a
comfortable bed and good catering if I am to go on holiday and enjoy it.
_You_ can please yourself."

That is the mistake Mother made. Ernest ought not to be allowed to
please himself. He doesn't know what is good for him. And, when he
departed on his walking tour accompanied by his tent, his sponge-bag, a
copy of OMAR KHAYYAM, but very little else, Mother felt uneasy.

"What will happen if you get your feet wet?" she asked. "I'm sure you
ought to take more things with you, Ernest."

"What more do I want?" he demanded, "'A loaf of bread beneath the
bough----'"

"A loaf of bread indeed!" echoed Mother. "Fiddlesticks! Mind you get at
least three good meals a day." She then gave him the address of the
boarding-house where we had finally decided to spend our holidays and
told him to send her a wire at once if he got a cold in the head.

* * *

It was the hour of dinner at the Select Boarding Establishment (sep.
tables, 3 mins. sea, elec. lt., mod.) where we had spent ten days of our
entirely select holiday. Everyone was assembled in the lounge hall
waiting for the gong to announce the meal. Mother, basking her soul in
the atmosphere of gentility, was chatting with the half-sister of a
bishop, who was just remarking that Mother must call on her in town,
when a strange _fracas_ was heard at the back of the hall; a moment
later a strange figure thrust itself in our midst and looked wildly
round.

"Ernest!" murmured Mother faintly. She was a wise woman to know her own
child under the circumstances. Perhaps she identified the tent-pole to
which he was still clinging. Otherwise he was scarcely recognisable. His
hair was wild and unkempt, his clothing torn and damaged. His boots
clung to his feet by the uppers only and were held together by fragments
of a sponge-bag.

"Mother!" said Ernest, singling her out from amongst the gay throng. The
moment was dramatic.

"I--I was arrested," went on Ernest. He spoke in a purely conversational
tone, but it's surprising how far the human voice will carry at times.
Everybody about t