"Not at all," explains flyman; "British Medical Association here. All
sorts of festivities. Hotels all crowded. Lodgings too."

If the worst come to the worst, I shall have to spend a night in a
bathing-machine. Not bad: if fine. Can be called early; then sea-bath;
also man to bring hot water and towels. While speculating on this
probability, we arrive at

_Royal Bath Hotel_.--Flag flying, showing that British Medical
Association Family are at home. Other flags elsewhere express same
idea. B.M.A. at home everywhere, of course. Array of servants in
brown liveries and gilt buttons in outer hall, preparing to receive
visitors. Pleasant and courteous Manager--evidently Manager--with
foreign accent receives me smilingly. "Any difficulty about rooms?"
I ask, nervously. "None whatever in your case," returns courteous
Manager, bowing most graciously as he emphasises the possessive
pronoun. In the hall are trim young ladies, pleasant matronly ladies,
chorus of young porters and old porters, all smiling, and awaiting
my lightest bow and heaviest baggage. I am "to be shown up." (_Absit
omen!_) However, I am shown up. Charming room: sea-view, nearly all
the views from the windows of Royal Bath are sea-views, take the Bath
which way you will; and the welcome is so warm, it ought to be The
Warm Bath Hotel.

I am looking for something which has probably been left in the hall.
"Let me see," I say, musingly, to myself, as I look round; "where's my
waterproof with two capes? I've missed--er--" I hesitate, being still
uncertain.

A sprightly Boots is going hurriedly out of the room. He pauses in