accompaniment (somewhat diminished lately, I confess) leaped up anew.
There were things in that window which made a man long to be a
hermit.

"Mrs. Winston." I cried (Molly was driving), "for goodness' sake stop."

In an instant the car slowed down. "What is the matter?" she implored.
"Are you ill? Have we run over anything?"

"No, but look there," I said eagerly. "What an outfit for a camping
tour! My mouth waters only at sight of it."

"Greedy fellow," commented Jack from the tonneau. "Drive on, Molly.
Get him past the shop. He doesn't really want any of those things, and
wouldn't use them if he had them. The sooner he forgets the better."

"Never shall I forget that Instantaneous Breakfast for an Alpiniste,"
I fiercely protested, "and I will have it at any cost. I know there's
no other shop on the Continent like this, and I shall buy an outfit
for myself and mule, here, if I have to come back from Lucerne by
train for it."

"Hang your mule!" exclaimed Jack. "I was hoping you'd forgotten all
about him by this time, and had made up your mind to go on with us
indefinitely."

I saw reproach blaze through the talc triangle in Molly's mushroom.
(Yet I thought she liked me, and had not, thus far, found "three a
crowd.")