August 15.--The days were passing in delight at Bocken. I come out from the consulate early in the afternoon. Occasionally I stay here all day, and then with Harte and his cousin we have little excursions in the vicinity.
Yesterday, I helped Mr. Harte read over the proof-sheets of his “Twins of Table Mountain.” We lay in hammocks and read. I do not think it approaches some of his former stories.
Miss C---- copies much for him, and he also occasionally dictates to her. I wonder that any one can write in that way.
The other afternoon I took him in to consult Dr. Cloetta, a distinguished professor and physician. The good doctor, who speaks but little English, put him on a lounge, examined him carefully, and said, “Mr. Harte, I think you got extension of the stomach.” Coming back on the boat, Harte laughed a good deal about this; cursed a little too.
August 18.--Mrs. Senator Sherman, of Washington, and two of her nieces, are stopping for a while in this part of Switzerland. A lieutenant of the navy is also with them. The other day we all took a notion to cross the country in a post diligence, and turn up at the Rigi.
We started from Bocken early in the morning. The driver was jolly and we had much fun. I only fear some of the peasants thought us tipsy, as we passed through their villages singing “Shoo Fly, Don’t Bother Me,” and like joyous American ditties. We had a big, red umbrella fastened above the diligence, and when we came to a hamlet the driver put his horses on the gallop and blew his bugle. Mrs. Sherman looked a bit serious over it all, but the noisier ones of the party were in command.
The hotel on the Rigi had not a single bed for us that night. “May we sleep on the hall floor?” innocently inquired Mr. Harte. “No,” answered the landlord. “Perhaps out on the doorsteps then?” continued Mr. Harte. “Just as you please,” said the keeper of the hostelry, crustily. “My beds, I tell you, are taken. I can do nothing for you.” “Yes, but--” went on Mr. Harte, with a knowing smile--“it is awfully cold and dark out there--suppose our little party orders a good champagne supper, with lots of chicken and etceteras, and sits at the table here all night. You wouldn’t mind that would you?” The landlord coughed a little cough.
The supper was ordered, and before it was half over our host bethought himself. He said he had just got a telegram from Prince ---- and his suite, who had engaged the four finest rooms in the house. The Prince could not come. We could have the Prince’s rooms, all of them. “Hurrah for the Prince of ----,” we all cried, clinking our glasses to him. The fact was, and we knew it, the telegraph office had not been open since 6 o’clock. All the same, we had the finest rooms and a moderate bill. And the next day one of the nieces was engaged to the young lieutenant. So a good deed prospers.
“You will not mind telling us why you did not give us the rooms in the first place, will you?” said Mr. Harte to the host next morning, as he settled the bill for the party. “We know, you know, that you got no telegram at all from the Prince.” “Frankly,” said the landlord, “it was because Americans don’t often order wine. My profit’s in my wine and if none is ordered, better the rooms remain empty. But you folks are not Americans, I know by the many bottles.” Nevertheless, it was Mr. Harte’s good nature that won the day for us, or rather the night.
We were up too late for the “Sunrise on the Rigi” next morning; but the splendid view of a dozen blue lakes and snow white mountains all around us, repaid the party for the trip.