IX

THE ENCHANTED YODLER


A MARIENBAD ELEGY

I

The remorseless rain had washed anew the face of the dark blue sky that
domed Marienbad and its curved chain of hills. Hugh Krayne threw open
his window and, leaning out, exclaimed, as he eagerly inhaled the soft
air of an early May morning:--

"At last! And high time!" For nine days he had waded through the wet
streets, heavily leaping the raging gutters and stopping before the door
of every optician to scrutinize the barometer. And there are many in
this pretty Bohemian health resort, where bad weather means bad temper,
with enforced confinement in dismal lodgings or stuffy _restaurations_,
or--last resort of the bored--the promenade under the colonnade, while
the band plays as human beings shuffle ponderously over the cold stones
and stare at each other in sullen desperation.

But this day was a glorious one; in high spirits the Englishman left the
house on the Oberkreuzbrunnenstrasse and moved slowly toward the
springs. He was not thirty, but looked much older, for his weight was
excessive. An easy-going temperament, a good appetite, a well-filled
purse, and a conscience that never disturbed his night's slumber
contributed to this making of flesh. He waddled, despite his great
height, and was sufficiently sensitive to enjoy Marienbad as much for