"What we want is rest," said Harris.
"Rest and a complete change," said George. "The overstrain upon our
brains has produced a general depression throughout the system. Change
of scene, and absence of the necessity for thought, will restore the
mental equilibrium."
George has a cousin, who is usually described in the charge-sheet as a
medical student, so that he naturally has a somewhat family-physicianary
way of putting things.
I agreed with George, and suggested that we should seek out some retired
and old-world spot, far from the madding crowd, and dream away a sunny
week among its drowsy lanes - some half-forgotten nook, hidden away by
the fairies, out of reach of the noisy world - some quaint-perched eyrie
on the cliffs of Time, from whence the surging waves of the nineteenth
century would sound far-off and faint.
Harris said he thought it would be humpy. He said he knew the sort of
place I meant; where everybody went to bed at eight o'clock, and you
couldn't get a REFEREE for love or money, and had to walk ten miles to
get your baccy.
"No," said Harris, "if you want rest and change, you can't beat a sea
trip."
I objected to the sea trip strongly. A sea trip does you good when you
are going to have a couple of months of it, but, for a week, it is
wicked.
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