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349
The Journal of a Disappointed Man
·
W. N. P. Barbellion
73
"It's
not
cynical,"
I
said,
"only
a
little
knowing.
Won't
you
let
yours
fall
down
to
keep
it
company?
Yours
is
a
lady
umbrella
and
a
good-looking
one--they
might
flirt
together."
"Mine
doesn't
want
to
flirt,"
she
answered
stiffly.
September
13.
At
C----,
a
tiny
little
village
by
the
sea
in
N----.
Looking
up
from
a
rockpool,
where
I
had
been
watching
Gobies,
I
saw
three
children
racing
across
the
sands
to
bathe,
I
saw
a
man
dive
from
a
boat,
and
I
saw
a
horse-man
gallop
his
mare
down
to
the
beach
and
plunge
about
in
the
line
of
breakers.
The
waters
thundered,
the
mare
whinnied,
the
children
shouted
to
one
another,
and
I
turned
my
head
down
again
to
the
rockpool
with
a
great
thumping
heart
of
happiness:
it
was
so
lovely
to
be
conscious
of
the
fact
that
out
there
this
beautiful
picture
was
awaiting
me
whenever
and
as
often
as
I
chose
to
lift
my
head.
I
purposely
kept
my
head
down,
for
the
picture
was
so
beautiful
I
did
not
want
to
hurt
it
by
breathing
on
it,
and
I
kept
my
head
down
out
of
a
playful
self-cheating
delight;
I
decided
not
to
indulge
myself.
September
16.
Out
in
the
Bay
dredging
for
Echinoderms
with
"Carrots."
Brilliantly
fine.
The
haul
was
a
failure,
but,
being
out
in
a
boat
on
a
waveless
sea
under
a
cloudless
sky,
I
was
scarcely
depressed
at
this!
We
cruised
along
from
one
little
bay
to
another,
past
smugglers'
caves
and
white
pebble
beaches,
the
dredge
all
the
while
growling
along
the
sea
bottom,
and
"Carrots"
and
I
lying
listless
in
the
bows.
I
was
immensely
happy.
My
mercury
was
positively
ringing
the
bell.
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