“And we three strangers have struck it,” said George, “without an effort.”
“True,” I observed. “By pure good fortune we are now enabled to feast our finer senses undisturbed by appeal to our lower nature. Observe the light upon those distant peaks; is it not ravishing?”
“Talking of nature,” said George, “which should you say was the nearest way down?”
“The road to the left,” I replied, after consulting the guide book, “takes us to Sonnensteig—where, by-the-by, I observe the ‘Goldener Adler’ is well spoken of—in about two hours. The road to the right, though somewhat longer, commands more extensive prospects.”
“One prospect,” said Harris, “is very much like another prospect; don’t you think so?”
“Personally,” said George, “I am going by the left-hand road.” And Harris and I went after him.
But we were not to get down so soon as we had anticipated. Storms come quickly in these regions, and before we had walked for quarter of an hour it became a question of seeking shelter or living for the rest of the day in soaked clothes. We decided on the former alternative, and selected a tree that, under ordinary circumstances, should have been ample protection. But a Black Forest thunderstorm is not an ordinary circumstance. We consoled ourselves at first by telling each other that at such a rate it could not last long. Next, we endeavoured to comfort ourselves with the reflection that if it did we should soon be too wet to fear getting wetter.
“As it turned out,” said Harris, “I should have been almost glad if there had been a restaurant up here.”
“I see no advantage in being both wet and hungry,” said George. “I shall give it another five minutes, then I am going on.”
“These mountain solitudes,” I remarked, “are very attractive in fine weather. On a rainy day, especially if you happen to be past the age when—”