he gave it up and sallied forth to seek coolness abroad.  His steps turned naturally upwards towards the overhanging castle where he was sure of a breeze and plenty of shade; and as he passed the famous old “Wirthshaus zum faulen Pelz” on the ascent, he turned in and took a drink of the cool clear ale and a pretzel, an operation termed in Germany the “Fruehschoppen,” or “early glass,” and as universal a practice as the early tea in the tropics before the sun is up, or the “vermouth” of the Italian before the evening meal.  Having offered this customary libation to the summer deities, the Doctor leisurely climbed the hill and entered the precincts of the Schloss.  Sure enough, there was a breeze here among the ruins, and shade in abundance wherein to lie and read all through the summer day, with an occasional shift of position as the sun rose and sank in the blazing sky.

Claudius stretched himself out near the great ruined tower under a bit of wall, and, pulling out a book, began to read.  But the book did not interest him, and before long he let it drop and fell to thinking.  The light wind stirred the broad green foliage over him, and the sun struck fiercely down beyond the border of shade; but then, again, beyond there were more trees and more shade.  The nameless little crickets and flies and all manner of humming things panted musically in the warm air; the small birds chirped lazily now and then in desultory conversation, too hot to hop or fly; and a small lizard lay along the wall dazed and stupid in the noontide heat.  The genius loci was doubtless cooling himself in the retirement of some luxurious hole among the ruins, and the dwarf Perkeo, famous in song and toast, had the best of it that day down in the cellar by the great tun.

But Claudius was of a tough nature, and minded neither heat nor cold; only when a large bluebottle fly buzzed round his nose he whisked his broad hat to drive the tormentor away, and said to himself that summer had its drawbacks even in Germany, though there were certainly more flies and mosquitoes and evil beasts on the wing in Sweden during the two months’ heat there.  On the whole, he was pretty comfortable among the ruins on this June day, though he ought to begin considering where his summer foot tour was to take him this year.  It might be as well, certainly.  Where could he go?  There was the Black Forest, but he knew that thoroughly; Bohemia—­he had been there; Switzerland; the Engadine—­yes, he would go back to Pontresina and see what it had grown into since he was there six years ago.  It used to be a delightful place then, as different from St. Moritz as anything could well be.  Only students and artists and an occasional sturdy English climber used to go to Pontresina, while all Europe congregated at St. Moritz half a dozen miles away.  He would go there as he went everywhere, with a knapsack and a thick stick and a few guldens in his pocket, and be happy, if so be that he had any capacity for enjoyment left in him.