he sat in one of them and
was held fast. It was all fresh and delightful. The landlord and the
clerks had smiles as wide as the open doors; the waiters exhibited in
their eagerness a good imitation of unselfish service.

It was very pleasant to be alone in the house, and to be the
first-fruits of such great expectations. The first man of the season
is in such a different position from the last. He is like the King of
Bavaria alone in his royal theatre. The ushers give him the best seat in
the house, he hears the tuning of the instruments, the curtain is about
to rise, and all for him. It is a very cheerful desolation, for it has a
future, and everything quivers with the expectation of life and gayety.
Whereas the last man is like one who stumbles out among the empty
benches when the curtain has fallen and the play is done. Nothing is
so melancholy as the shabbiness of a watering-place at the end of the
season, where is left only the echo of past gayety, the last guests are
scurrying away like leaves before the cold, rising wind, the varnish
has worn off, shutters are put up, booths are dismantled, the shows are
packing up their tawdry ornaments, and the autumn leaves collect in the
corners of the gaunt buildings.

Could this be the Cape May about which hung so many traditions of
summer romance? Where were those crowds of Southerners, with slaves and
chariots, and the haughtiness of a caste civilization, and the belles
from Baltimore and Philadelphia and Charleston and Richmond, whose
smiles turned the heads of the last generation? Had that gay society
danced itself off into the sea, and left not even a phantom of itself
behind? As he sat upon the veranda, King could not rid himself of
the impression that this must be a mocking dream, this appearance of
emptiness and solitude. Why, yes, he was certainly in a delusion, at
least in a reverie. The place was alive. An omnibus drove to the door
(though no sound of wheels was heard); the waiters rushed out, a fat man
descended, a little girl was lifted down, a pretty woman jumped from
the steps with that little extra bound on the ground which all women
confessedly under forty always give when they alight from a vehicle, a
large woman lowered herself cautiously out, with an anxious look, and
a file of men stooped and emerged, poking their umbrellas and canes in
each other's backs. Mr. King plainly saw the whole party hurry into the
office and register their names, and saw the