Workman (hotly).  But hang it, I don’t want stale suet and sewer-scrapings, whatsomever you may call it.

Butterman (decisively).  Then buy Butter, and pay for it like a man, and don’t come a-bothering me about things as I’ve nothink to do with.  If Guv’ment will have it called Adipocerene, and your Missus will buy it becos it’s cheap; don’t you blame me if you find it nasty, that’s all.  Good morning!

    [Retires up, “swelling visibly."

Workman.  Humph!  Betwixt Grandmotherly Government and Manufacturers of Mysteriousness, where am I?  That’s wot I want to know! [Left wanting to know.

* * * * *

TO ENGELBERG AND BACK.

BEING A FEW NOTES TAKEN EN ROUTE IN SEARCH OF A PERFECT CURE.

The Engineers who constructed the gradually ascending road which, slowly mounting the valley, finally takes you over the ridge, as it were, and deposits you at a height of 3800 feet, dusty but grateful, on the plain of Engelberg, must have been practical jokers of the first water.  They lead you up in the right direction several thousand feet, then suddenly turn you round, and apparently take you clean back again.  And this not once, but a dozen times.  They seem to say, “You think you must reach the top this time, my fine fellow?  Not a bit of it.  Back you go again.”

Still we kept turning and turning whither the Practical-joking Engineers led us, but seemed as far off from our journey’s end as ever.  A roadside inn for a moment deluded us with its light, but we only drew up in front of this while our gloomy charioteer sat down to a good square meal, the third he had had since three o’clock, over which he consumed exactly five-and-twenty minutes, keeping us waiting while he disposed of it at his leisure, in a fit of depressing but greedy sulks.

At length we moved on again, and in about another half-an-hour apparently reached the limit of the Practical-joking Engineers’ work, for our surly charioteer suddenly jumped on the box, and cracking his whip furiously, got all the pace that was left in them out of our three sagacious horses, and in a few more minutes we were tearing along a level road past scattered chalets, little wooden toy-shops, and isolated pensions, towards a colossal-looking white palace that stood out a grateful sight in the distance before us, basking in the calm white-blue blaze shed upon it from a couple of lofty electric lights, that told us that up here in the mountains we were not coming to rough it, but to be welcomed by the latest luxuries and refinements of first-rate modern hotel accommodation.  And this proved to be the case.  Immediately he arrived in the large entrance-hall, the Dilapidated One was greeted by the Landlord of the Hotel et Kurhaus, Titlis, politely assisted to the lift, and finally deposited in the comfortable and electrically-lighted room which had been assigned to him.