when there is a stern wind, as otherwise the pungent fumes of the cheese
carried in the luggage van are very obnoxious to the passengers. Some
day some American efficiency expert will visit the town and teach them
to couple their luggage van on to the rear of the train. But till then
Strychnine will be to me, and to every other traveller who may chance
that way, a fragrant memory.

And as you enter the tunnel, the last thing you see is the onyx canal
and the old women fishing for lambrequins and palfreys.




INGO

"ZUM ANDENKEN"


The first night we sat down at the inn table for supper I lost my heart
to Ingo! Ingo was just ten years old. He wore a little sailor suit of
blue and white striped linen; his short trousers showed chubby brown
calves above his white socks; his round golden head cropped close in the
German fashion. His blue eyes were grave and thoughtful. By great good
fortune we sat next each other at table, and in my rather grotesque
German I began a conversation. How careful Ingo was not to laugh at the
absurdities of my syntax! How very courteous he was!

Looking back into the mysterious panorama of pictures that we call
memory, I can see the long dining room of the old gasthaus in the Black
Forest, where two Americans on bicycles appeared out of nowhere and