Another vexation that he has to contend with is, that every time he
moves a limb or breathes extra hard, the bed (which is only of down)
tumbles off on to the floor.

You cannot lean out of a German bed to pick up anything off the
floor, owing to its box-like formation; so he has to scramble out
after it, and of course every time he does this he barks both his
shins twice against the sides of the bed.

When he has performed this feat for about the tenth time, he
concludes that it was madness for him, a mere raw amateur at the
business, to think that he could manage a complicated, tricky bed of
this sort, that must take even an experienced man all he knows to
sleep in it; and gets out and camps on the floor.

At least, that is what I did. B. is accustomed to German beds, and
doubled himself up and went off to sleep without the slightest
difficulty.

We slept for two hours, and then got up and went back to the
railway-station, where we dined. The railway refreshment-room in
German towns appears to be as much patronised by the inhabitants of
the town as by the travellers passing through. It is regarded as an
ordinary restaurant, and used as such by the citizens. We found the
dining-room at Cologne station crowded with Cologneists.

All classes of citizens were there, but especially soldiers. There
were all sorts of soldiers--soldiers of rank, and soldiers of rank
and file; attached soldiers (very much attached, apparently) and
soldiers unattached; stout soldiers, thin soldiers; old soldiers,