They passed through the gate of Rosivera and went down the avenue, Mr. Dick leading the way with the two bicycles. Turning a corner, they came suddenly upon a view of the house. Beyond it, at the bottom of the lawn, lay the bay. “Dilapidated!” said Mr. Sanders, in disgust. “I knew it would be dilapidated, but I didn’t expect it to be as bad as this. It looks to me as if it were uninhabited.” Mr. Dick paid no attention to the appearance of the house. The sight of the sea seemed to intoxicate him. He was very hot and very dusty. The idea of bathing in cold water was delightful. “We’ll have a swim,” he said. “First we’ll knock up the proprietor, borrow the repair outfit, and mend the tyre. Then we’ll go round the corner, out of sight of the house, and wallow in the briny wave.” But Mr. Sanders was cautious, more cautious than he had been about drinking the water out of the pool. “You’ve no towel,” he said. “What do we care for towels? We are primitive men, savages on our native wild, cave dwellers of the paleolithic age. I should spurn a towel if it was offered me.” “That’s all very well for you, Dick; but I have a weak heart, and I have to be careful. In the heated state in which I am at present, I daren’t risk bathing, especially without a towel.” “Then I’ll bathe by myself. You can get the bicycle repaired. By the time you have it settled I shall be ready to start again.” They reached the house. Mr. Dick commented, laughing, on the fact that there was no electric bell. Mr. Sanders sighed at this fresh evidence of dilapidation. There was no knocker either. Mr. Dick hammered on the door with his fist until he thought he had made noise enough to attract attention. Then he walked on towards the shore, leaving his friend alone to enjoy the hospitality or face the wrath of the inmates of the house. Mr. Sanders waited for some time and then knocked again. After another pause he tried kicking the door. Then he rang both the bicycle bells. At last he began to despair of attracting attention. Some men, under the circumstances, would have gone away. Mr. Sanders was persevering and little troubled with delicacy of feeling. He pushed open the door and walked in.