“Yes, what is it?”
“Are you in bed?” comes a voice from the other side of the door.
“Yes,” answers B. “Why?”
“Oh! Sorry to disturb you, but we shall be so glad when you get up. We can’t go downstairs without coming through your room. This is the only door. We have been waiting here for two hours, and our train goes at three.”
Great Scott! So that is why the poor old souls have been hanging round the door, terrifying us out of our lives.
“All right, we’ll be out in five minutes. So sorry. Why didn’t you call out before?”
FRIDAY, 30TH, OR SATURDAY, I AM NOT SURE WHICH
Troubles of a Tourist Agent.—His Views on Tourists.—The English Woman Abroad.—And at Home.—The Ugliest Cathedral in Europe.—Old Masters and New.—Victual-and-Drink-Scapes.—The German Band.—A “Beer Garden.”—Not the Women to Turn a Man’s Head.—Difficulty of Dining to Music.—Why one should Keep one’s Mug Shut.
I think myself it is Saturday. B. says it is only Friday; but I am positive I have had three cold baths since we left Ober-Ammergau, which we did on Wednesday morning. If it is only Friday, then I have had two morning baths in one day. Anyhow, we shall know to-morrow by the shops being open or shut.
We travelled from Oberau with a tourist agent, and he told us all his troubles. It seems that a tourist agent is an ordinary human man, and has feelings just like we have. This had never occurred to me before. I told him so.