“Not in the least; but do let us get into the shade,” said Uncle Frederick; for there were two things he could not endure: heat and laughter—the first on account of his corpulence, and the second on account of what he himself called “his apoplectic tendencies.”
“By-the-bye,” he said, when they reached the cool side of the street, and he had taken his nephew by the arm, “now that I think of it, I do know, quite well, who lives in No. 34; it’s old Captain Schrappe.”
“Do you know him?” asked Cousin Hans, anxiously.
“Yes, a little, just as half the town knows him, from having seen him on the esplanade, where he walks every day.”
“Yes, that was just where I saw him,” said his nephew. “What an interesting old gentleman he looks. I should like so much to have a talk with him.”
“That wish you can easily gratify,” answered Uncle Frederick. “You need only place yourself anywhere on the ramparts and begin drawing lines in the sand, then he’ll come to you.”
“Come to you?” said Cousin Hans.
“Yes, he’ll come and talk to you. But you must be careful: he’s dangerous.”
“Eh?” said Cousin Hans.
“He was once very nearly the end of me.”