be
mentioned. It is when a railway carriage beautifully upholstered with
crimson velvet holds you, six Germans, and one Englishman, for eight
hours on a blazing summer day, that you begin to wonder whether, after
all, you do mind smoke. To be sure, you might have travelled in a
_Nichtraucher_ or a _Damen-Coupe_, but changes are a nuisance on a
journey. Besides, you know that a _Damen-Coupe_ is always crowded, and
that the moment you open a window someone will hold a handkerchief
tearfully to her neck and say, "_Aber ich bitte meine Dame: es
zieht!_" and all the other women in the carriage will say in chorus,
"_Ja! ja! es zieht!_" and if you don't shut the window instantly the
conductor will be summoned, and he will give the case against you. So
you travel all day long with seven cigars, most of them cheap strong
ones, that their owners smoke very slowly and replace directly they
are finished. And after a time the conversation turns on smoking, and
your neighbour admits that he always lights his first cigar when he
gets up in the morning and smokes it while he is dressing. His wife
dresses in the same room and does not like it, but.... It is
unnecessary to say more. Five cigars out of six are in sympathy with
him, while you amuse yourself by wondering what revenge a wife could
take in such circumstances. A bottle of the most offensive scent in
the market suggests itself, but you look at your neighbour's profile,
and see that he is the kind of man to pitch scent he did not like out
of the window. You have heard of one German husband who did this when
his wife brought home perfumes that did not please him. And then your
memory travels back and back along the years, arriving at last at the
picture of an English nursery, in the household where a German guest
had arrived the night before. The nurses and the children are sitting
peacefully at breakfast, when there enters to them a housemaid,
scornful, scandalised, out of breath with her hurry to impart what she
had seen.

"He's a-smoking in bed," she says, "that there Mr. Hoggenheimer! He's
a-smoking in bed!"

"Some of them do," says nurse, who is a travelled person, and refuses
to be taken by surprise.

"Well, of all the nasty...."

"Sh!" says nurse, pointing to the children, all eyes and ears.

So that is all you can remember about the housemaid and Mr.
Hoggenheimer. But you remember him--a little dark man who sent you
books you could not read at Christmas, and brough