“I was never here before. It seems to me a very nice place.”
“Yes, it looks that way at first, but wait till you’ve been here a day or two. It’s so wretchedly respectable!—that’s what I object to in it. Respectability’s bad enough on its native heath, but sea air seems to accentuate it, don’t you know. I can’t tell you why it is, but it’s so; and respectability that you can put up with in London becomes unbearable down by the sea. Haven’t you noticed that? And it’s all on such a slender basis too: the third-class fare to Brighton is four shillings and tuppence-ha’penny, while to Eastbourne it’s four shillings and elevenpence, so all this swagger is on a beggarly foundation of eightpence-ha’penny. You see what I mean? I wouldn’t give a week in Brighton for a day in Eastbourne, although I should hate to be condemned to either, for that matter. London is the only town that’s exactly my size, don’t you know.”
“Then why do you stop at Eastbourne?”
“Ah, now you come to the point; now you place your finger right on the spot. Why, indeed? Can’t you guess? I can tell in a moment why you are here.”
“Why?” asked Marsten, in some alarm.
“Oh, simply because some fool of a doctor, who didn’t know any better, sent you down. You’re here for the air, my boy: you don’t come for the society, so it must be the air—that’s the only other thing Eastbourne’s got. You were told it would brace you up in a week, and it will, if your reason holds out for so long. I’d be a madman, sane as I am, if I were compelled to live in this place a fortnight; I would, on my honour! No, you don’t catch me in Eastbourne for either air or the society, and yet, in a way, it is the society, too, only it doesn’t seem to come off; and here I am stranded, don’t you know, with a coachman and a groom, not to mention a valet, two horses, and one of the smartest carts that ever left London. That’s my turn-out, there. I drive tandem, of course; it’s the only Christian way to drive. Not that I care about the style of it,—I hope I’m above all that sort of thing,—and I’m not to be blamed because so many other fellows do it, don’t you know; I love a tandem for itself alone. Ever drive tandem?”
“I never did,” said Marsten, looking at Barney’s handsome equipage, which was being slowly driven up and down the road by a man in livery. He had noticed it before, but now he gazed at it with renewed interest, as Barney modestly proclaimed himself the owner.
“Well, it isn’t as easy as it looks. It’s not every fool can drive a tandem, although I am said to be one of the first tandem-drivers in London, don’t you know. I don’t say so, of course; but there are those who do, and they are judges, too. But it’s no fun driving about alone: to enjoy tandem-driving you need to have a pretty girl beside you.”
“And are there no pretty girls in Eastbourne?”
“There are, my boy, and that’s just what I want to talk with you about. Let’s sit down here in this shelter, because I want your whole attention. Now, I did you a favour one day, even though it was for another fellow, didn’t I?”