We made that port the following day. Symons was to ship from Havre to Southampton, after having a look at Havre. I learned that our boat was going to be delayed for twenty-four hours on account of repairs—she seemed to be repairing all the way to New York—and that all three of us could go ashore for a stroll. Symons' exchequer had, by this time, got perilously low—he had the price of his ticket to London and, perhaps, two francs over. All of us found some forgotten German coins of small denominations in our pockets, and proceeded to an exchange office. No transaction at the Bank of England ever seemed more important than did this one with the French money dealer. Symons was to be the beneficiary, and we higgled and haggled over the values of our groschen and sechser as if millions were at stake. In the end we managed to increase his holdings by two francs—that was all, and it was absolutely all that we could afford. Symons was so glad to be in the right mood for terra firma sensations again that the two francs looked like two hundred to him. At any rate he did not seem to care how large or small the sum was—he thanked the gods prodigiously that he was strong enough merely to walk.
We smuggled him on board for supper, and finally left him, as we thought, until we should again be in England, as our boat was to sail early the next morning, the repairs having been accelerated, so we were told. Symons was to spend the night and next day ashore, waiting for the Southampton boat. The next morning found our ship still tied up. We were free to go ashore again, and have another "last" meal in a restaurant. As we strolled up the main street, whom should we meet striding proudly down the thoroughfare but Symons, his brown gossamer sailing merrily after him.
"Fancy this!" he exclaimed on seeing us. "How jolly! But do you think your boat ever will get started again."
Then he told us of the wonderful impressionistic night he had spent.
"After bidding you good-by," he explained, "I strolled back to Frascati's. The moon was up, and I felt like strolling. When Frascati's closed I walked along the beach for a while—it was a perfect night for 'sensations.'
"At last I got sleepy. There was a bathing machine near-by, and I thought it would be a jolly adventure to spend the rest of the night in it. Besides, I wanted to economize.
"I don't know how long I had been dozing, but toward morning I was awakened by footfalls near-by. I peaked out. It was a guard—at least he looked like one. I crept out of the bathing machine and dodged around it conveniently until the man had passed. Then I went down on the beach, and later up to the convent or monastery on the hill. The sun was just creeping up over the horizon and there was a wonderful early morning hush over everything. I sat down and wrote some verses. Really, the impressionistic appeal was so overwhelming I could not help it. I've never had such a jolly night."
We breakfasted together, took one more short stroll and then separated again. Later, after seventeen days at sea, we learned that Symons had made London without further accident.