y days before for
that matter--searching for a job that failed to materialise.

Jobs, it appeared, were just about as scarce as cool spots in Hades.
They had been very kind to me at the last farmhouse. The good lady had
given me an excellent breakfast and an extra glass of milk, had loaded
my bedraggled pockets with food and had finally put me on the road to
the sea. Work, she said, they could not give me. They had put off two
men the previous day. I might find something to do in the next town. She
did tell me what it was called, but my thoughts were on my own poor
prospects and I didn't quite catch what she said. On the principle that
a rose by any other name would still have its thorns, I didn't ask her
to repeat it. I just said, "Thank you, ma'am," in my best tramp manner
and set off down the road to the sea. On the way my left boot burst and
a pebble worked in through the opening and set me limping. To make
matters worse the day was perhaps the hottest of all that memorable
summer, and the glare from the white grit of the road played the devil
with my eyes. I was very pleased when at length I reached the low sand
dunes and dropped between them on to the wet sand of the beach. I walked
along this aimlessly for a mile or so until the big hump of the bluff
rose up over me. Then, as I have already related, I came across that
heaven-sent cave and threw my weary length on its damp flooring of sand,
determined to snatch as much peace and repose as I could before I
continued my search for work.

I can't say for the life of me how long it was before I first sat up and
took notice of the fat little man. He was bobbing up and down in the
surf for all the world like some ungainly porpoise, and every time he
moved he shot sunlit streams of water off his gross body. I've seen fat
men in my time, but this one was just about the limit. He was all up and
down and then across. I know that doesn't quite explain what he looked
like, but it's about the only way I can describe him. He was short and
tubby; if he had been any shorter he would have been a human
Humpty-Dumpty. He was so obviously enjoying himself and getting the best
out of his gambols in the water that my heart went out to him. He was
ducking and splashing about, rolling and wallowing in a way that
reminded me of a hippopotamus I had once shot at--and missed--in happier
if not more spacious days spent on the lower Nile. "The Hippo" I
christened him, and then chuckled to my