THE HUNT FOR HAPPINESS
A DIALOGUE
Wilson rose and, quietly opening the door, passed into the bedroom of his friend.
Randal in his dressing-gown lay stretched upon the sofa by the open window, half-asleep, half-awake, enjoying the last delicious sensations of the siesta.
Outside was the eternal panorama of the Mediterranean, glaucous and glassily wreathing under the stifling heat of a cloudy sun. Here and there its semi-circular monotony was broken by the red-tiled roofs of the houses, which seemed to be undergoing some imperfect process of fumigation as the eddies of the fitful breeze lifted and dispersed the fine and foul-smelling dust of the streets and promenades. A bird sang wearily but persistently in one of the dingy trees of the hotel garden, and a canary, in a cage in a neighbouring apartment, burst every now and then into ear-ringing and emulous song—two burthens at such an hour worse than the biblical grasshopper. Finally, a young Italian girl, with a monkey and a
