I gave a grunt¹ and went on with my dream. It was a jolly dream, and nobody got up early in it.

 

"We will now bathe," repeated Archie.

 

"Go away," I said distinctly.

 

Archie sat down on my knees and put his damp towel on my face.

 

"When my wife and I took this commodious² residence for six weeks," he said, "and engaged the sea at great expense to come up to its doors twice a day, it was on the distinct understanding that our guests should plunge³ into it punctually at seven o'clock every morning."

 

"Don't be silly, it's about three now. And I wish you'd get off my knees."

 

"It's a quarter-past seven."

 

"Then there you are, we've missed it. Well, we must see what we can do for you to-morrow. Good-night."

 

Archie pulled all the clothes off me and walked with them to the window.

 

"Jove, what a day!" he said. "And can't you smell the sea?"

 

"I can. Let that suffice. I say, what's happened to my blanket? I must have swallowed it in my sleep."

 

"Where's his sponge?" I heard him murmuring to himself as he came away from the window.

 

"No, no, I'm up," I shouted, and I sprang out of bed and put on a shirt and a pair of trousers with great speed. "Where do I take these off again?" I asked. "I seem to be giving myself a lot of trouble."

 

"There is a tent."

 

"Won't the ladies want it? Because, if so, I can easily have my bathe later on."

 

"The ladies think it's rather too rough to-day."

 

"Perhaps they're right," I said hopefully. "A woman's instinct—No,

I'm NOT a coward."

It wasn't so bad outside—sun and wind and a blue-and-white sky and plenty of movement on the sea.

 

"Just the day for a swim," said Archie cheerily, as he led the way down to the beach.

 

"I've nothing against the day; it's the hour I object to. The Lancet says you mustn't bathe within an hour of a heavy meal. Well, I'm going to have a very heavy meal within about twenty minutes. That isn't right, you know."

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