Well, they had rooms, but they were let for the following week—being regatta week—and, yes, said the stout lady behind the counter, she thought she had better not take me; but the "Balaclava Inn," next door, put up beds—I had better try there.
Yes, at the "Balaclava" they put up beds, and they showed me to a room. "But if I should get a good let to-morrow—lots of folks come down on Sunday to stop for regatta," said the hostess—"I shall have to turn you out; but maybe I can find you a bedroom nigh handy."
This just to show the extreme independence of the aborigines.
Then I turned out to find the desirable seaside residence with the maximum of accommodation and comfort at the minimum of cost.
I rooted round till I struck the chief estate agent—who was also the chief grocer—of the town.
His shop was full, and trade was evidently booming.
I stood behind a triple row of clamorous lady visitors, who were ordering everything under the sun in the grocery line, and complaining vehemently to the badgered shop-men that their last orders had all been very inadequately fulfilled. I waited patiently till the mob, having apparently bought up the whole shop, thinned out, and a dapper London-trained young shopman smoothed down his ruffled front hair and leaned over the counter and asked, "And what can I do for you, sir?"
"I want a small furnished house," I said, meekly.
"Ah," he said, with a grin, "I'm afraid we are out of them at present; I'll ask Mr. Wilson."
"Small furnished house for August?" echoed Mr. Wilson, in aggrieved amazement. "Not such a thing to be had in Eastnor. All let a month ago. You should come in May or June to get a house for August."