. From the log of the Velsa. ces-sion of bands to finish. It would not finish, andwe therefore had to join it. All the way up theRue de la Chapelle we could not hear ourselvesspeak in the brazen uproar; and all the brass in-struments and all the dark uniforms of the puffyinstrumentalists were glittering and melting in therain. Occasionally at the end of the street, overthe sea, lightning feebly flickered against a darkcloud. At last I could turn off into a butchersshop, where under the eyes of a score of shoppingmatrons I purchased a lovely piece of beef for thenominal price of three francs se
. From the log of the Velsa. ces-sion of bands to finish. It would not finish, andwe therefore had to join it. All the way up theRue de la Chapelle we could not hear ourselvesspeak in the brazen uproar; and all the brass in-struments and all the dark uniforms of the puffyinstrumentalists were glittering and melting in therain. Occasionally at the end of the street, overthe sea, lightning feebly flickered against a darkcloud. At last I could turn off into a butchersshop, where under the eyes of a score of shoppingmatrons I purchased a lovely piece of beef for thenominal price of three francs seventy-five centimes,and bore it off with pride into the rain. When we got back to the yacht with well-bap-tized beef and vegetables and tarts, we met thedeck-hand, who was going alone into the interest-ing and romantic city. Asked what he was about,he replied: I m going to buy a curio, sir; thats all. Heknew the city. He had been to Ostend before ina cargo-steamer, and he considered it neither in- 236 a > 5 Z o H ZH Z o r. TO BELGIUM teresting nor romantic. He pointed over the canaltoward the country. There s a pretty walk overthere, he said; but there s nothing here, point-ing to the town. I had been coming to Ostend fortwenty years, and enjoying it like a child, but thedeck-hand, with one soft-voiced sentence, took itoff the map. In the afternoon, winding about among thesoaked cosmopolitanism of the promenade, I wasready to agree with him. Nothing will destroyfashionable affectations more surely than a wet Sun-day, and the promenade seemed to rank first in theforlorn tragedies of the world. I returned yetagain to the yacht, and was met by the skipper witha disturbed face. We cant get any fresh water, sir. Horse is ntallowed to work on Sundays. Everything schanged in Belgium. The skipper was too Dutchto be fond of Flanders. His mightiest passion wasrising in him—the passion to go somewhere else. All right, I said; we 11 manage with mineralwater, and then we 11 move on to
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Keywords: ., bookcentury1900, bookdecade1910, bookpublishernewyo, bookyear1914
