up, and the weedy waiter
and two market-women had gone up the gangway, which was now being
hauled up, and were standing on the quay. I think one or two other
persons had first come aboard unnoticed by us, but at the last moment
a man we had not seen before jumped down to the forward deck.
'Grimm!' we both ejaculated at once.

The steamer whistled sharply, circled backwards into the road-stead,
and then steamed away. The pier soon hid her, but her smoke showed
she was steering towards the North Sea.

'What does this mean?' I asked.

'There must be some other quay to stop at nearer the town,' said
Davies. 'Let's go ashore and get your letters.'

We had made a long and painful toilette that morning, and felt quite
shy of one another as we sculled towards the pier, in much-creased
blue suits, conventional collars, and brown boots. It was the first
time for two years that I had seen Davies in anything approaching a
respectable garb; but a fashionable watering-place, even in the dead
season, exacts respect; and, besides, we had friends to visit.

We tied up the dinghy to an iron ladder, and on the pier found our
inquisitor of the night before smoking in the doorway of a shed
marked 'Harbour Master'. After some civilities we inquired about the
steamer. The answer was that it was Saturday, and she had, therefore,
gone on to Juist. Did we want a good hotel? The 'Vier Jahreszeiten'
was still open, etc.

'Juist, by Jove!' said Davies, as we walked on. 'Why are those three
going to Juist?'

'I should have thought it was pretty clear. They're on their way to
Memmert.'

Davies agreed, and we both looked longingly westward at a
straw-coloured streak on the sea.

'Is it some meeting, do you think?' said Davies.

'Looks like it. We shall probably find the 'Kormoran' here,
wind-bound.'

And find her we did soon after, the outermost of the stack of
galliots, on the farther side of the harbour. Two men, whose faces we
took a good look at, were sitting on her hatch, mending a sail.

Flooded with sun, yet still as the grave, the town was like a dead
butterfly for whom the healing rays had come too late. We crossed some
deserted public gardens commanded by a gorgeous casino, its porticos
heaped with chairs and tables; so past kiosques and _cafes,_ great white
hotels with boarded windows, bazaars and booths, and all the stale lees
of vulgar frivolity, to the post-office, which at least was alive. I
received a packet of letter