Chapter 23 two three

When Roy and I arrived at Heights, a car that was neither too luxurious nor obviously shabby was waiting for him, and the driver handed me a note that Mrs. Driffield invited me to dinner at noon the next day. .I got into a taxi and went straight to the Bear and Key Inn.I know from Roy's mouth that a new Ocean Hotel has been built on the promenade, but I don't want to abandon the place where I played in my youth for the comfort of modern civilization.As soon as I arrived at the station, I saw the changes in the town. The station was no longer in the original place, but beside a new street, and another car was running on the street. This feeling is of course very novel.Nothing had changed at the Bear and Key, however, and I was greeted with the same indifference and disrespect as before: no one was at the door; the driver put down my bag and drove away.I yelled, got no answer; I went into the bar and saw a young woman with cropped hair reading a Compton .Mackenzie's novel.I asked her if there was any room available.She looked at me a little angrily, and said maybe there was.Seeing that she didn't seem interested in the matter, I asked her very politely if someone could show me the room.She stood up, opened a door, and screamed, "Katie."

what?I heard someone ask. A gentleman wants a room. Presently a haggard, old-fashioned woman in a dirty calico dress, with gray hair disheveled came up, and led me up two flights of stairs into a small, dingy room. Could you find me a better room than this?I asked. This is the room where traveling salesmen usually live.She sniffled and replied. Don't you have another room? Singles are gone. Then give me a double room. I'll ask Mrs. Brentford. I walked down to the second floor with her, and she knocked on a door, which told her to come in.When she opened the door, I caught a glimpse of a stout woman with graying hair carefully waved.She is reading a book.It seems that everyone in this inn has an interest in literature.When Katie told her I wasn't happy with room number seven, she gave me a cold look.

Take him to room number five.she says. I was beginning to feel a little imprudent in myself for refusing so arrogantly Mrs. Driffield's invitation to live with her, and for being too sentimental to listen to Roy's wise advice that I should live at the Ocean Hotel.Katie led me upstairs again and took me into a relatively large room facing the street, most of which was taken up by a double bed.The windows must have not been opened for a month. I told her that this room was fine, and asked her about the meal. You can eat whatever you like.Katie said, we don't have anything right now, but I'll run over and get it for you.

Knowing English inn food well, I ordered pan-fried sole and roast ribs.Then I went for a walk.I walked towards the beach, where a square had been opened, and a row of bungalows and villas with verandas had been built on fields that I remembered only being swept by the wind.But they looked dilapidated, with mud and water all over the walls.I surmise to myself that, even after all these years, Lord George's dream of turning Black Tavern into a popular seaside resort is still unfulfilled.An ex-soldier and two elderly women stroll along the asphalt that has collapsed here and there.The surrounding scene was extremely bleak.A cold wind blew and drizzled from the sea.

I turned and walked back to the town, and in the clearing between the Bear and the Key and the Duke of Kent, people gathered in small groups in spite of the weather; their eyes were pale blue like their fathers color, their high cheekbones are so ruddy.I was surprised to find that some sailors in blue jumpers still wear small gold earrings in their ears, and not only a few old sailors, but also boys in their teens.I strolled along the street, the old bank had been redecorated, but the stationery store was still the same, where I bought paper and wax for a visit with an unknown writer I happened to meet. Copy extension stele.Two or three new movie theaters were opened, and the entrances were covered with brightly colored posters, which suddenly gave the otherwise solemn street a bohemian air, which looked very much like the appearance of a respectable old woman who was drunk.

The traveling salesman's room at the inn was cold and dark, and I ate alone at a large table set with six servings.That scruffy Katie waits by.I asked her if she could light a fire. Not in June.After April, she said, we stopped building fires. I'll pay.I said dissatisfied. Not in June.It can be done in October, but not in June. After dinner, I went to the bar for a glass of red wine. Very quiet hey.I said to the waitress with the short haircut. Yes, very quiet.she replied. I thought you'd have a lot of guests here on Friday night. Well, everyone would think so, wouldn't they?

Then came out from behind a solid, red-faced man with his gray hair cut short, who I took to be the innkeeper. Are you Mr. Brentford?I asked him. Yes, it's me. I know your father.Would you like a glass of red wine with me? I told him my name, which hadn't been known to anyone in town in his boyhood, and I was a little embarrassed to see that he couldn't remember me.Still, he accepted my offer of red wine. Are you here on business?He asked me that we often receive some businessmen.We are always happy to do our best for them. I told him I was visiting Mrs. Driffield, and left him to guess the purpose of my visit.

I used to see the old man a lot, said Mr. Brentford, and he was very fond of coming to us for a bitter ale.Look, I don't mean he's kind of drunk, but he just loves to sit in the bar and chat.Hey my god, he chatted for hours and never cared who he was chatting with.Mrs. Driffield did not like his presence at all.The old man often slipped out of the house and wandered to my place without saying a word to anyone.You know it's a long way for a man his age.Of course, Mrs. Driffield knew where he was every time the family found out he was missing, and she always called to ask if he was here.Then she would get in the car and come to me to meet my wife.She'd say to my wife: Go get him, Mrs Brentford.I don't want to go into the bar by myself, where there are so many idlers.So my wife always came in and said to him: Hey, Mr. Driffield, your wife came to see you by car, you'd better drink a beer and go back with her.He always told my wife not to say he was here when Mrs. Driffield called to see him, but of course we couldn't do that.He is old and such a character, we can't take this responsibility.do you know?He was born in this parish, and his first wife was a local girl.She has been dead for many years.I don't know her at all.The old man was an interesting man.He had no airs at all; he was said to be considered a great man in London, and the papers were full of mourning for him when he died; but chatting with him, you never thought he was a great man at all.He seemed like a normal guy, just like you and me.Of course, we always try to make him comfortable.We wanted to ask him to sit in the easy chair, but he refused, insisting on the edge of the counter; he said he liked the way he put his feet on the rung of the bar stool.I'm sure he's happier here than anywhere else.He always said he liked bars.He said there you'd see life; he said he loved life all the time.What a character.He reminded me of my dad, except our old man never read a book in his life; he could drink a whole bottle of brandy a day.He was seventy-eight years old when he died, and he had never been ill in his life, and the illness he suffered at the end of his death was also the first time he was ill in his life.Old Driffield passed away so suddenly, I really missed him then.Two days ago, I told my wife that I really wanted to read one of his books sometime. I heard that several of his books were written about things in our area.