Produced by Judith Boss
A. V. Laider
By
I unpacked my things and went down to await luncheon.
It was good to be here again in this little old sleepy hostel by thesea. Hostel I say, though it spelt itself without an "s" and evenplaced a circumflex above the "o." It made no other pretension. Itwas very cozy indeed.
I had been here just a year before, in mid-February, after an attack ofinfluenza. And now I had returned, after an attack of influenza.Nothing was changed. It had been raining when I left, and thewaiter—there was but a single, a very old waiter—had told me it wasonly a shower. That waiter was still here, not a day older. And theshower had not ceased.
Steadfastly it fell on to the sands, steadfastly into the iron-graysea. I stood looking out at it from the windows of the hall, admiringit very much. There seemed to be little else to do. What little therewas I did. I mastered the contents of a blue hand-bill which, pinnedto the wall just beneath the framed engraving of Queen Victoria'sCoronation, gave token of a concert that was to be held—or, rather,was to have been held some weeks ago—in the town hall for the benefitof the Life-Boat Fund. I looked at the barometer, tapped it, was notthe wiser. I wandered to the letter-board.
These letter-boards always fascinate me. Usually some two or three ofthe envelops stuck into the cross-garterings have a certain newness andfreshness. They seem sure they will yet be claimed. Why not? WhySHOULDN'T John Doe, Esq., or Mrs. Richard Roe turn up at any moment? Ido not know. I can only say that nothing in the world seems to me moreunlikely. Thus it is that these young bright envelops touch my hearteven more than do their dusty and sallowed seniors. Sour resignationis less touching than impatience for what will not be, than theeagerness that has to wane and wither. Soured beyond measure these oldenvelops are. They are not nearly so nice as they should be to theyoung ones. They lose no chance of sneering and discouraging. Suchdialogues as this are only too frequent:
A Very Young Envelop: Something in me whispers that he will come to-day!
A Very Old Envelop: He? Well, that's good! Ha, ha, ha! Why didn't hecome last week, when YOU came? What reason have you for supposinghe'll ever come now? It isn't as if he were a frequenter of the place.He's never been here. His name is utterly unknown here. You don'tsuppose he's coming on the chance of finding YOU?
A. V. Y. E.: It may seem silly, but—something in me whispers—
A. V. O. E.: Something in YOU? One has only to look at you to seethere's nothing in you but a note scribbled to him by a cousin. Lookat ME! There are three sheets, closely written, in ME. The lady towhom I am addressed—
A. V. Y. E.: Yes, sir, yes; you told me all about her yesterday.
A. V. O. E.: And I shall do so to-day and to-morrow and every day andall day long. That young lady was a widow. She stayed here manytimes. She was delicate, and the air suited her. She was poor, andthe tariff was just within her means. She was lonely, and had need oflove. I have in me for her a passionate avowal and strictly honorableproposal, written to her, after many rough copies, by a gentleman whohad made her acquaintance under this very roof. He was rich, he wascharming, he was in the prime of life. He had asked if he might writeto her. She had flutteringly granted his request. He posted me to herthe day after his return to London. I looked forward to being tornopen by her