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." I thanked him, and left depressed. I wandered through the town, and found myself back on the Esplanade. I walked the whole length of it, and then along the sea bank into the uninhabited region beyond. Not quite uninhabited, as it proved, for, about half a mile from the Esplanade, I came suddenly on a cottage with nothing between it and the sandy beach but a tiny garden plot, with a bit of grass and some nasturtiums and pinks mixed up with cabbages and potatoes and a row of scarlet-runners. It looked very clean and inviting, and I said to myself, "Now, if only that were to let, it's just exactly what I want." There could be no harm in asking, so I went up to the door and knocked. No one came. I knocked again. Still no answer. I waited. It seemed to me there was some movement in the side room, the sliding window of which was partly open, but was covered with a white curtain. I knocked again, and the door opened suddenly, and disclosed the small brown face of a small lame man, looking up at me with a pair of small but very sharp brown eyes, with, as I now remember, a slightly startled look in them, as of one caught in the act. "Yes?" he said, in a sharp voice. "Oh, I wanted to ask if this cottage is by any chance to let any time in August." He hesitated, and then snapped, "How long for?"