“I think a quick walk would set me to rights in a very short time; and as I hear your son singing in the garden, perhaps I shall be able to persuade him to join me.”
“If you don’t like the foot-bath, try a little sweating in cloths—indeed, it will cure you—pray, try it.”
“My dear Count—my headache is of a very peculiar kind; I am subject to it, and have given it the name of ‘bored headache.’ I know from experience that nothing but a walk can cure me.”
“Bored headache! To bore—to penetrate—to pierce—to bore with a gimlet! You feel, perhaps, as if some one had been boring at your head,” and he suited the action to the words.
“Precisely—exactly. In such cases I require violent exercise——”
“But, I assure you,” he persisted, “the cold stupes would have the same effect; I should still, merely to convince you, recommend sweating in——”
“Excuse me this time,” said Hamilton, hurriedly, “and to-morrow, if you will have the kindness to read me your manuscript, I shall be able to appreciate its merits as it deserves.”
While the Count was taking off his spectacles, Hamilton, with his hand pressed on his forehead, left the room as if he were suffering tortures. It was fortunate that the old man’s rheumatism prevented his looking after him, as he ran along the corridor and bounded down the staircase into the garden! Young Zedwitz was gone, and his mother and sister were standing so near the door that, in the eagerness of flight, Hamilton stumbled against them. He apologised, and then asked for Count Max, whom he said he expected to have found in the garden.
“He was here a minute ago,” answered she, “but is gone to look for somebody or something; I did not quite understand what he said.”
“It is very unkind of Max not to walk with us,” observed the young lady, with some irritation; “he knows how dreadfully afraid I am of cows and dogs.”