Doctor Kumpan--this was a nickname he had received while at the university--looked upon his friend's excursion in search of a nurse as if it were one of their old student escapades. He rode with him over hill and dale, never loth to make a slight detour, if, by that means, they might gain an inn, where he could gratify his hunger with a good meal, and his thirst with a drop of good wine--the more drops the better.
"So many of our customs," said Sixtus, one day, "are, at bottom, immoral. For instance, nurse-hunting."
Doctor Kumpan roared with laughter and said:
"And you too, Schniepel,"--the college nickname of Sixtus--"so you, also, are one of the new-fashioned friends of the people. You gentlemen, whose gloves are ever buttoned, treat the people far too gingerly. We, who live among them, know them far better. They're a pack of rogues and blockheads, just like their superiors; the only difference's that they're more honest about it. The only effect your care for them can have will be to make matters worse. How lucky it is that the trees in the forest grow without artificial irrigation!"
During these excursions, Doctor Kumpan gave free vent to his rough humor, and was so delighted with his wit that he could live three days on the recollection of one of his own wretched jokes.
Sixtus found himself ill at ease in the company of the village doctor, with whom it was necessary to keep on the same friendly footing as of yore; and, therefore, made an effort to hasten his departure.
He was about to take his leave--it was on the morning of the second Sunday following--when Doctor Kumpan said:
"I'm disgusted with myself for having been so stupid. I've got it! Mother nature herself, unconditioned and absolute--just as old Professor Genitivius, the son of his celebrated father, used to say, while he brought his fist down on his desk--Come along with me!"
They drove off in the direction of the lake.