XVI.
A generous contention has arisen between ourselves and the other remaining family as to which shall be last to leave the hotel. They go on the 10.25, and we have outstayed them! We are the last guests in the house. The landlord’s Italian greyhound seems instinctively to feel our pathetic distinction. He rushes upon me from far down the veranda, and fawns upon me.
The cook and a last helper of some unknown function carry our trunks to the station. But it has now suddenly become a question whether we shall go on the 12.20 or wait for the 5.20. It depends finally upon our getting a last lunch at the restaurant of the bathing-beach. We ask, limiting our demands to a clam chowder. We are answered that there are still clams, but the man who knows how to make chowder is gone. The restaurant family are going to lunch upon a ham bone, which is now being scraped for them. We refuse to share it with many thanks, and decide to go on the 12.20.
I have paid my last bill.
On the 10th of August a pomp of liveried menials met me as I alighted from the train, and contended for the honor and profit of carrying my umbrella into the hotel.
On the 17th of September I myself carry a heavy satchel in each hand out through the echoing corridors down the wide veranda stairs to the train, unattended by a single fee-taker.
The hotel is closed.