In
the Buffet of Dover Harbour, in the cold grey dawn, in the brief
interval between boat and train, the large young man, shooting his
cuffs, strode forward, struck a confidential attitude across the
counter, and began to flirt with the barmaid.
Open-mouthed, fascinated, appalled, I watched this monstrous and
unimaginable procedure. I was not near enough to overhear what was
said. But I knew by the respective attitudes that the time-honoured
ritual was being observed strictly by both parties. I could see the
ice of haughty indifference thawing, little by little, under the fire
of gallant raillery. I could fix the exact moment when `Indeed?'
became `I daresay,' and when `Well, I must say' gave place to `Go
along,' and when `Oh, I don't mind you--not particularly' was
succeeded by `Who gave you them flowers?'... All in the cold grey
dawn...
The cry of `Take your places, please!' startled me into realisation
that all the other passengers had vanished. I hurried away, leaving
the young man still in the traditional attitude which he had assumed
from the first--one elbow sprawling on the counter, one foot cocked
over the other. My porter had put my things into a compartment exactly
opposite the door of the Buffet. I clambered in.
Just as the guard blew his whistle, the young man or monster came
hurrying out.
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