The waitress must have giggled. Once again the incrusted paper leered at me in ail its horrible pink incrustiness. There was no bacon left on my plate. But the delicious scent of salt still lingered. Alas, my holiday was over! I must speed me or I should miss the train to town.
"Good-bye!" I shouted to the manageress and shook her by the hand. She seemed surprised. "Such a happy time," I assured her. "I wish I could have it all over again."
She said something which I could not hear. Sea-bathing tends to make me a little deaf.
"If I have forgotten anything—my pyjamas or my shaving strop—would you be so kind as to send them on? Good-bye again."
Something fluttered to the floor. The manageress stooped. I was just passing through the portals.
"You have forgotten this," she called.
It was the dear little square piece of paper which contained my bill. I looked at it in amazement.
"What!" I exclaimed—"only one-and-twopence for a poached egg and bacon and all that salt flavour thrown in?"