He glanced first at the sheet of paper, and finding it written in German thrust it into his pocket. Then he commenced an anxious search for smoking materials, and eventually produced a pipe, a crumpled packet of tobacco, and two matches.
"Thank Heaven!" he exclaimed, lighting up. "And now for a tramp."
He plodded steadily along the track for an hour or more. All the time he was in the heart of the forest. Pheasants and rabbits and squirrels continually crossed in front of him. Once a train passed, and an excited guard shouted threats and warnings, to which he replied in fluent but ineffective English.
"Johnnies seem to think I'm trespassing!" he remarked to himself in an aggrieved tone. "I can't help being on their beastly line!"
Tall, smooth-faced, and fair, he walked with the long step and lightsome grace of the athletic young Englishman of his day. He was well dressed in tweed clothes, cut by a good tailor, a little creased by his night out of doors, but otherwise immaculate. He hummed a popular air to himself, and held his head high. If only he were not so hungry.
Then he came to a station. It was little more than a few rows of planks, with a chalet at one end—but a very welcome sight confronted him. A little pile of luggage, with his initials, G. P., was on the end of the platform nearest to him.
"That conductor was a sensible chap," he exclaimed. "Glad I tipped him. Hullo!"
The station-master, in uniform, came hurrying out. The young Englishman took off his hat, and produced a phrase book from his pocket. He ignored the stream of words which the station-master, with many gesticulations, was already pouring out.
"My luggage," he said firmly, laying one hand upon the pile, and waving the phrase book.
The station-master acquiesced heartily. He waxed eloquent again, but the Englishman was busy with the phrase book.