Mr. CAPES is energetically explaining and protesting to everybody.  Amid the hum and buzz of voices, I catch what he is saying.  It is, “My dear Sir, Dr. MCSIMMUM is here.  I’ve seen him.  He dined alone.  He said he preferred it, as he had so much to do to-morrow.”  Then several exclaim, “But where is he now?”

“I don’t know,” replies the Proprietor.  “Most likely, being tired, he has gone to bed.  I myself showed him to his room, No. 142, on his arrival.”

Heavens!  The number of my room—­is 142!  Not another man in there!  No....  I see it all now, I am Dr. MCSIMMUM! The real MCSIMMUM hasn’t arrived, and he hasn’t sent a message.  This accounts for my welcome, and the absence of all difficulty in obtaining a room.  But if he arrives now! where shall I be?

“What’s that about MCSIMMUM?” says a jovial voice, coming right into the midst of them.

To which inquiry responds a chorus, “He’s here!  Mr. CAPES says so, but no one’s seen him.”

“And no one’s likely to.” returns the cheery speaker.  “He’s staying with some friends a little way out of the town.  He has just sent me a note by hand to say that he won’t occupy his room till to-morrow, and will be much obliged if Mr. CAPES will forward by bearer a bag that was labelled and addressed to the room taken for him here, No. 142.”

[Illustration:  “——­ Speed the Parting Guest.”]

“But—­” exclaims the Proprietor, aghast, “but—­”

At this moment I catch sight of the man with the cheery voice.  Saved!  I know him.  It is my old friend, Sir JOHN HARTLEY, M.D., who, years ago, told me there was nothing the matter with me, only I must take a holiday and go abroad to get better (most excellent advice, and I’ve never been quite well since), and who now exclaims, with all his old breadth of manner, “What you here!  Bravo!  We’ll make you an honorary member!”

The Proprietor looks at me, and I at the Proprietor.  I know what is passing through the mind of Mr. NORFOLK CAPES, F.R.G.S. and P.R.B.H.  I hasten to relieve his anxiety by saying, “Thanks; I’m here only for the night; I’m off to-morrow.  I’ve just come down here to look for a house.  By the way, I rather think that Dr. MCSIMMUM’s bag must be in my room.  Let’s see.”

So I depart with the Proprietor.  Explanations en route.  Dr. MCSIMMUM’s bag has been placed in my room, I should say in his room.  But I’ve got the apartment, and if it hadn’t been for the mistake, I should have been homeless and houseless, and a wanderer on the face of the sand at Bournemouth.  Must write to that best of all doctors, MCSIMMUM, and thank him for not coming to-night.

As it is I spend a delightful evening with the Members of the B.M.A. here assembled, in the smoking-room.  The conversation is chiefly about the use of alcohol and tobacco as poisons.  The decision arrived at towards one o’clock A.M., or, more correctly speaking, the Inn-decision, is that, on this particular occasion, one glass more of something or other, and just one last pipe or cigar, cannot possibly hurt anybody.  This is carried nem. con.:  and so, subsequently, we adjourn, not carried but walking, soberly and honestly, to bed.