he hot months,
and it was now September. In passing, it may be mentioned I held a
secretaryship to a not very long floated company; a fairly good berth--
as long as it lasted. As long as it lasted! There lay the rub. For I
had held two similar berths before!

Well, this invite came in pat. A blow of country air would do me all
the good in the world just then. The invite was something of an event,
as may be conjectured in the light of certain foregoing remarks; still,
that didn't matter. Nothing did--according to my then philosophy--
except lack of the needful, and an abominable noise when one wanted to
go to sleep. The first I had experienced more than once, the second I
was destined to--and notably if I accepted the invite. However, that
didn't weigh. The only thing that remained was to pack up and send a
wire.

I had packed, and found out a convenient train. But the first thing in
the morning brought a counter-wire--

"Sorry must put you off dick and bertha got scarlatina holt."

Here was a nuisance--the said Dick and Bertha being among the certain
arch-contributors in prospective to the second of the things that matter
in life, as referred to above. Yes, it was a nuisance. I was all ready
to start, and the weather was perfect; just that soft, golden, hazy kind
of September weather that is exquisite in the country, and here was I,
doomed to the reek of asphalt and wood paving once more, just as I was
rejoicing in the prospect of a week of emancipation therefrom. Well, I
would go somewhere, but it wasn't the same thing, for I am not partial
to solitary jaunts, albeit in most matters self-concentrated. At any
rate, I would not go back to work.

I strolled round to the club, thinking out an objective the while.
There were few _habitues_ there, but a sprinkling of strangers, for we
were housing another kindred institution pending its summer cleaning.
Among these was a man I knew, and as we got talking over our "split" I
found he was in the same predicament as myself.

"Don't know where to go?" he said. "I'll tell you. There's a jolly
little place on the Dorsetshire coast--Whiddlecombe Regis--right out of
the public beat, only known to a few, and they always go back there.
Jolly pretty country, first-rate bathing, and not bad sea fishing.
Let's run down together for a week or so. We can capture a train from
Waterloo at a decent hour to-morrow. Waiter, just fetch me the ABC,
will you?"

The ABC w