three men on the bummel-第38章

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Harris　and　I　went　after　him。

But　we　were　not　to　get　down　so　soon　as　we　had　anticipated。　　Storms
come　quickly　in　these　regions；　and　before　we　had　walked　for　quarter
of　an　hour　it　became　a　question　of　seeking　shelter　or　living　for
the　rest　of　the　day　in　soaked　clothes。　　We　decided　on　the　former
alternative；　and　selected　a　tree　that；　under　ordinary
circumstances；　should　have　been　ample　protection。　　But　a　Black
Forest　thunderstorm　is　not　an　ordinary　circumstance。　　We　consoled
ourselves　at　first　by　telling　each　other　that　at　such　a　rate　it
could　not　last　long。　　Next；　we　endeavoured　to　comfort　ourselves
with　the　reflection　that　if　it　did　we　should　soon　be　too　wet　to
fear　getting　wetter。

〃As　it　turned　out；〃　said　Harris；　〃I　should　have　been　almost　glad　if
there　had　been　a　restaurant　up　here。〃

〃I　see　no　advantage　in　being　both　wet　AND　hungry；〃　said　George。　　〃I
shall　give　it　another　five　minutes；　then　I　am　going　on。〃

〃These　mountain　solitudes；〃　I　remarked；　〃are　very　attractive　in
fine　weather。　　On　a　rainy　day；　especially　if　you　happen　to　be　past
the　age　when〃

At　this　point　there　hailed　us　a　voice；　proceeding　from　a　stout
gentleman；　who　stood　some　fifty　feet　away　from　us　under　a　big
umbrella。

〃Won't　you　come　inside？〃　asked　the　stout　gentleman。

〃Inside　where？〃　I　called　back。　　I　thought　at　first　he　was　one　of
those　fools　that　will　try　to　be　funny　when　there　is　nothing　to　be
funny　about。

〃Inside　the　restaurant；〃　he　answered。

We　left　our　shelter　and　made　for　him。　　We　wished　for　further
information　about　this　thing。

〃I　did　call　to　you　from　the　window；〃　said　the　stout　gentleman；　as
we　drew　near　to　him；　〃but　I　suppose　you　did　not　hear　me。　　This
storm　may　last　for　another　hour；　you　will　get　SO　wet。〃

He　was　a　kindly　old　gentleman；　he　seemed　quite　anxious　about　us。

I　said：　　〃It　is　very　kind　of　you　to　have　come　out。　　We　are　not
lunatics。　　We　have　not　been　standing　under　that　tree　for　the　last
half…hour　knowing　all　the　time　there　was　a　restaurant；　hidden　by
the　trees；　within　twenty　yards　of　us。　　We　had　no　idea　we　were
anywhere　near　a　restaurant。〃

〃I　thought　maybe　you　hadn't；〃　said　the　old　gentleman；　〃that　is　why
I　came。〃

It　appeared　that　all　the　people　in　the　inn　had　been　watching　us
from　the　windows　also；　wondering　why　we　stood　there　looking
miserable。　　If　it　had　not　been　for　this　nice　old　gentleman　the
fools　would　have　remained　watching　us；　I　suppose；　for　the　rest　of
the　afternoon。　　The　landlord　excused　himself　by　saying　he　thought
we　looked　like　English。　　It　is　no　figure　of　speech。　　On　the
Continent　they　do　sincerely　believe　that　every　Englishman　is　mad。
They　are　as　convinced　of　it　as　is　every　English　peasant　that
Frenchmen　live　on　frogs。　　Even　when　one　makes　a　direct　personal
effort　to　disabuse　them　of　the　impression　one　is　not　always
successful。

It　was　a　comfortable　little　restaurant；　where　they　cooked　well；
while　the　Tischwein　was　really　most　passable。　　We　stopped　there　for
a　couple　of　hours；　and　dried　ourselves　and　fed　ourselves；　and
talked　about　the　view；　and　just　before　we　left　an　incident　occurred
that　shows　how　much　more　stirring　in　this　world　are　the　influences
of　evil　compared　with　those　of　good。

A　traveller　entered。　　He　seemed　a　careworn　man。　　He　carried　a　brick
in　his　hand；　tied　to　a　piece　of　rope。　　He　entered　nervously　and
hurriedly；　closed　the　door　carefully　behind　him；　saw　to　it　that　it
was　fastened；　peered　out　of　the　window　long　and　earnestly；　and
then；　with　a　sigh　of　relief；　laid　his　brick　upon　the　bench　beside
him　and　called　for　food　and　drink。

There　was　something　mysterious　about　the　whole　affair。　　One
wondered　what　he　was　going　to　do　with　the　brick；　why　he　had　closed
the　door　so　carefully；　why　he　had　looked　so　anxiously　from　the
window；　but　his　aspect　was　too　wretched　to　invite　conversation；　and
we　forbore；　therefore；　to　ask　him　questions。　　As　he　ate　and　drank
he　grew　more　cheerful；　sighed　less　often。　　Later　he　stretched　his
legs；　lit　an　evil…smelling　cigar；　and　puffed　in　calm　contentment。

Then　it　happened。　　It　happened　too　suddenly　for　any　detailed
explanation　of　the　thing　to　be　possible。　　I　recollect　a　Fraulein
entering　the　room　from　the　kitchen　with　a　pan　in　her　hand。　　I　saw
her　cross　to　the　outer　door。　　The　next　moment　the　whole　room　was　in
an　uproar。　　One　was　reminded　of　those　pantomime　transformation
scenes　where；　from　among　floating　clouds；　slow　music；　waving
flowers；　and　reclining　fairies；　one　is　suddenly　transported　into
the　midst　of　shouting　policemen　tumbling　yelling　babies；　swells
fighting　pantaloons；　sausages　and　harlequins；　buttered　slides　and
clowns。　　As　the　Fraulein　of　the　pan　touched　the　door　it　flew　open；
as　though　all　the　spirits　of　sin　had　been　pressed　against　it；
waiting。　　Two　pigs　and　a　chicken　rushed　into　the　room；　a　cat　that
had　been　sleeping　on　a　beer…barrel　spluttered　into　fiery　life。　　The
Fraulein　threw　her　pan　into　the　air　and　lay　down　on　the　floor。　　The
gentleman　with　the　brick　sprang　to　his　feet；　upsetting　the　table
before　him　with　everything　upon　it。

One　looked　to　see　the　cause　of　this　disaster：　　one　discovered　it　at
once　in　the　person　of　a　mongrel　terrier　with　pointed　ears　and　a
squirrel's　tail。　　The　landlord　rushed　out　from　another　door；　and
attempted　to　kick　him　out　of　the　room。　　Instead；　he　kicked　one　of
the　pigs；　the　fatter　of　the　two。　　It　was　a　vigorous；　well…planted
kick；　and　the　pig　got　the　whole　of　it；　none　of　it　was　wasted。　　One
felt　sorry　for　the　poor　animal；　but　no　amount　of　sorrow　anyone　else
might　feel　for　him　could　compare　with　the　sorrow　he　felt　for
himself。　　He　stopped　running　about；　he　sat　down　in　the　middle　of
the　room；　and　appealed　to　the　solar　system　generally　to　observe
this　unjust　thing　that　had　come　upon　him。　　They　must　have　heard　his
complaint　in　the　valleys　round　about；　and　have　wondered　what
upheaval　of　nature　was　taking　place　among　the　hills。

As　for　the　hen　it　scuttled；　screaming；　every　way　at　once。　　It　was　a
marvellous　bird：　　it　seemed　to　be　able　to　run　up　a　straight　wall
quite　easily；　and　it　and　the　cat　between　them　fetched　down　mostly
everything　that　was　not　already　on　the　floor。　　In　less　than　forty
seconds　there　were　nine　people　in　that　room；　all　trying　to　kick　one
dog。　　Possibly；　now　and　again；　one　or　another　may　have　succeeded；
for　occasionally　the　dog　would　stop　barking　in　order　to　howl。　　But
it　did　not　discourage　him。　　Everything　has　to　be　paid　for；　he
evidently　argued；　even　a　pig　and　chicken　hunt；　and；　on　the　whole；
the　game　was　worth　it。

Besides；　he　had　the　satisfaction　of　observing　that；　for　every　kick
he　received；　most　other　living　things　in　the　room　got　two。　　As　for
the　unfortunate　pigthe　stationary　one；　the　one　that　still　sat
lamenting　in　the　centre　of　the　roomhe　must　have　averaged　a　steady
four。　　Trying　to　kick　this　dog　was　like　playing　football　with　a
ball　that　was　never　therenot　when　you　went　to　kick　it；　but　after
you　had　started　to　kick　it；　and　had　gone　too　far　to　stop　yourself；
so　that　the　kick　had　to　go　on　in　any　case；　your　only　hope　being
that　your　foot　would　find　something　or　another　solid　to　stop　it；
and　so　save　you　from　sitting　down　on　the　floor　noisily　and
completely。　　When　anybody　did　kick　the　dog　it　was　by　pure　accident；
when　they　were　not　expecting　to　kick　him；　and；　generally　speaking；
this　took　them　so　unawares　that；　after　kicking　him；　they　fell　over
him。　　And　everybody；　every　half…minute；　would　be　certain　to　fall
over　the　pig　the　sitting　pig；　the　one　incapable　of　getting　out　of
anybody's　way。

How　long　the　scrimmage　might　have　lasted　it　is　impossible　to　say。
It　was　ended　by　the　judgment　of　George。　　For　a　while　he　had　been
seeking　to　catch；　not　the　dog　but　the　remaining　pig；　the　one　still
capable　of　activity。　　Cornering　it　at　last；　he　persuaded　it　to
cease　running　round　and　round　the　room；　and　instead　to　take　a　spin
outside。　　It　shot　through　the　door　with　one　long　wail。

We　always　desire　the　thing　we　have　not。　　One　pig；　a　chicken；　nine
people；　and　a　cat；　were　as　nothing　in　that　dog's　opinion　compared
with　the　quarry　that　was　disappearing。　　Unwisely；　he　darted　after
it；　and　George　closed　the　door　upon　him　and　shot　the　bolt。

Then　the　landlord　stood　up；　and　surveyed　all　the