D-humored little Englishman with cheeks like his own apples. The clerk
knew at a glance that the stranger was neither a "swell" nor a
frequenter of Newport; but he liked his manly appearance, and readily
met his advances. To his dismay,
Webb learned that
the "swells"
no longer went to the hotels; or, if obliged to do so for a short
period, secluded themselves in their rooms. They lived in cottages. Oh
yes! all those fine houses were called cottages. It was a sort of
fad--American modesty, the clerk
supposed. There was not much run of any sort at the hotel until the
fifteenth, when a good many tourists came. Oh yes! there were some
people
there, mostly old ones, who had come every season for many years, he
believed. Rather depressing parties, these; they looked
so old-fashioned, and didn't do much to brighten up things. Webb,
with growing dejection, left the hotel and strolled up the avenue. There
his spirits revived. The avenue was so beautiful, so gloomy, so old! He
drew in deep inhalations of its unmistakably aristocratic
atmosphere. He felt its subtle possessing influence.
Once more his imagination awakened. He leaned on a Gothic gateway and
gazed upon a superb Queen Anne cottage with Tudor towers. Incongruities
in architecture
mattered nothing to him. He precipitated his a