"The river is not what it used to be," said I; "I don't know what, but
there's a something--a dampness--about the river air that always starts
my lumbago."

"It's the same with me," said George. "I don't know how it is, but I
never can sleep now in the neighbourhood of the river. I spent a week at
Joe's place in the spring, and every night I woke up at seven o'clock and
never got a wink afterwards."

"I merely suggested it," observed Harris. "Personally, I don't think it
good for me, either; it touches my gout."

"What suits me best," I said, "is mountain air. What say you to a
walking tour in Scotland?"

"It's always wet in Scotland," said George. "I was three weeks in
Scotland the year before last, and was never dry once all the time--not
in that sense."

"It's fine enough in Switzerland," said Harris.

"They would never stand our going to Switzerland by ourselves," I
objected. "You know what happened last time. It must be some place
where no delicately nurtured woman or child could possibly live; a
country of bad hotels and comfortless travelling; where we shall have to
rough it, to work hard, to starve perhaps--"

"Easy!" interrupted George, "easy, there! Don't forget I'm coming with
you."