The next morning I arose early and screened in the little birdhouse balcony. There was a large piece of netting left and Silvia converted it into a robe and headgear for the swaddling of Diogenes.
“He looks like the Bride of Lammermoor,” I declared, as he went forth in this regalia.
“Well, that’s preferable to looking like a pest-house patient, as he did yesterday.”
His first-aid costume didn’t find favor with the landlady, as it would seem indicative to the newly arrived of the features of the place. However, before another stage-coming was due, Di had rent his garment sufficiently to make it useless is a “skeeter skirt.”
During the morning I enjoyed my solitary swim with the snakes. Diogenes played football with the croquet balls and bruised one of his toes, besides hitting the landlady’s child in the eye. Silvia went for a walk which had been pictured in the advertisements. She speedily returned, her ardor dampened.
“There are so many sticks and stones and rocks,” she said in a discouraged tone, “that there was no pleasure in walking. I nearly sprained my ankle.”
“Well, the real sport we haven’t tried yet,” I said. “We’ll get a boat and take 80 Diogenes and go for a row on the lake.”
This proposition met with instant favor. I put Silvia and Diogenes in the stern of the boat and pulled for the opposite shore. My endeavors to gain this point were balked by Silvia’s remarkable conceptions of the art of steering craft. She was so serenely satisfied, however, with the way she performed her duties and the aid she thought she was giving me, that I forbore to criticize.
In order to achieve a few strokes in the right direction, I asked her to get me a cigar from an inside pocket of my coat, which was on the seat in front of her. Then came the blight to our bliss. She looked in the wrong pocket and instead of producing a cigar, she extracted two letters with seals unbroken.