id it _was_? What did your
Missus buy it as?

_Workman_. Why, Adipo--whot's it, I believe. But that's only another
name for butter of a cheaper sort, ain't it? Anyhow, it's no reason
why it should be nasty.

_Butterman_ (_loftily_). Now look here, my man, what do you expect?
That's Adipocerene, that is, and _sold as such_. If you'll pay for
Butter, you can have it; but if you ask for this here stuff, you must
take yer chance.

_Workman_. But what's it made on?

_Butterman_. That's no business of mine. If you could anerlyse
it--(mind, I don't say yer _could_)--into stale suet and
sewer-scrapings, you couldn't prove as it warn't Adipocerene, same as
it's sold for, could yer?

_Workman_ (_hotly_). But hang it, I don't _want_ stale suet and
sewer-scrapings, whatsomever you may call it.

_Butterman_ (_decisively_). Then buy Butter, and _pay_ for it like a
man, and don't come a-bothering me about things as I've nothink to do
with. If Guv'ment _will_ have it called Adipocerene, and your Missus
_will_ buy it becos it's cheap; don't you blame _me_ if you find it
nasty, that's all. Good morning!

[_Retires up, "swelling visibly."_

_Workman_. Humph! Betwixt Grandmotherly Government and Manufacturers
of Mysteriousness, where _am_ I? That's wot I want to know! [_Left
wanting to know._

* * * * *

TO ENGELBERG AND BACK.

_BEING A FEW NOTES TAKEN EN ROUTE IN SEARCH OF A PERFECT CURE._

The Engineers who constructed the gradually ascending road which,
slowly mounting the valley, finally takes you over the ridge, as it
were, and deposits you at a height of 3800 feet, dusty but grateful,
on the plain of Engelberg, must have been practical jokers of the
first water. They lead you up in the right direction several thousand
feet, then suddenly turn you round, and apparently take you clean back
again. And this not once, but a dozen times. They seem to say, "You
think you must reach the top _this_ time, my fine fellow? Not a bit of
it. Back you go again."

Still we kept turning and turning whither the Practical-joking
Engineers led us, but seemed as far off from our journey's end as
ever. A roadside inn for a moment deluded us with its light, but we
only drew up in front of this while our gloomy charioteer sat down
to a good square meal, the third he had had since three o'clock, over
which he consumed exactly five-and-twenty minutes, keeping us waiting
while he disposed of it at his leisu