It broke up a fine afternoon, and now and then the sun shone out, making the drive to Littlehampton, through the beautiful tree scenery, quite a delightful one.
Reached Littlehampton-on-Sea by five o’clock, and, seeing no other place handy, I undid the gate of the cricket-field and drove right in. I then obtained the address of the manager or secretary, and sent my valet to obtain leave. I have found this plan answer my purposes more than once. It is the quickest and the best. It was suggested to me long, long ago on reading that page of “Midshipman Easy” where that young gentleman proposes throwing the prisoners overboard and trying them by court-martial afterwards.
So when Mr Blank came “to see about it” he found the fait accompli, looked somewhat funny, but forgave me.
Littlehampton-on-Sea is a quiet and pleasant watering-place, bracing, too, and good for nervous people. I am surprised it is not more popular. It has the safest sea-bathing beach in the world, and is quite a heaven on earth for young children.
We had a run and a romp on the splendid sands here last night, and I do not know which of the two was the maddest or the merriest, Hurricane Bob or his wee mistress. We are down here again this morning for half-an-hour’s digging and a good run before starting.
Now last night the waves were rippling close up to the bathing-machines, and Bob had a delicious dip. When we left the Wanderer this morning he was daft with delight; he expected to bathe and splash again. But the tide is out, and the sea a mile away; only the soft, wet, rippled sands are here, and I have never in my life seen a dog look so puzzled or nonplussed as Bob does at this moment.
He is walking about on the sand looking for the sea.
“What can have happened?” he seems to be thinking. “The sea was here last night, right enough. Or can I have been dreaming? Where on earth has it gone to?”
In the same grounds where the Wanderer lay last night, but far away at the other end of the field, is another caravan—a very pretty and clean-looking one. I was told that it had been here a long time, that the man lived in it with his young wife, supporting her and himself by playing the dulcimer on the street. A quiet and highly respectable gipsy indeed.
Delayed by visitors till eleven, when we made a start westward once again.