Van Rheijn laughed aloud. “Now, come,” said he, “illustrious countryman of Sobieski, of Poniatowski, and so many other worthies in ski, let us have your news—for news you evidently have to tell us. Let us have it. But, mind you, whatever excuse you may have to make—it will have to be a a good one.”
“As I was strolling about the green enjoying the music,” began the doctor, “my chief called me aside and said he wanted to see me at his quarters as soon as ever the concert was over.”
“Well, what of that?” cried the friends.
“A request of this kind,” rejoined the Pole, “is, as you know, gentlemen, tantamount to a positive order.”
“Yes, yes,” cried van Rheijn, full of curiosity, “we grant you that; but what important communication had he to make to you?”
“No doubt some case of pneumato—” began van Beneden.
But Murowski did not give him time to complete his sentence.
“He simply wanted to tell me that I am to be transferred to another station.”
“You are going to leave us?” exclaimed the friends in a breath.
“Yes, gentlemen, so it seems—you see I have been a very long time settled in this place,” grumbled Murowski, “it must be quite five months and a half.”