were, but they seemed more fond of driving than walking, and none of
them offered to accompany us on our rambles, for which we were very
glad. There was one man there, however, who was a great walker. He
was an Englishman, a member of an Alpine Club, and generally went
about dressed in a knickerbocker suit, with gray woollen stockings
covering an enormous pair of calves. One evening this gentleman was
talking to me and some others about the ascent of the Matterhorn,
and I took occasion to deliver in pretty strong language my opinion
upon such exploits. I declared them to be useless, foolhardy, and,
if the climber had any one who loved him, wicked.

"Even if the weather should permit a view," I said, "what is that
compared to the terrible risk to life? Under certain circumstances,"
I added (thinking of a kind of waistcoat I had some idea of making,
which, set about with little negative-gravity machines, all
connected with a conveniently handled screw, would enable the wearer
at times to dispense with his weight altogether), "such ascents
might be divested of danger, and be quite admissible; but ordinarily
they should be frowned upon by the intelligent public."

The Alpine Club man looked at me, especially regarding my somewhat
slight figure and thinnish legs.

"It's all very well for you to talk that way," he said, "because it
is easy to see that you are not up to that sort of thing."

"In conversations of this kind," I replied, "I never make personal
allusions; but since you have chosen to do so, I feel inclined to
invite you to walk with me to-morrow to the top of the mountain to
the north of this town."

"I'll do it," he said, "at any time you choose to name." And as I
left the room soon afterward I heard him laugh.

The next afternoon, about two o'clock, the Alpine Club man and
myself set out for the mountain.

"What have you got in your knapsack?" he said.

"A hammer to use if I come across geological specimens, a
field-glass, a flask of wine, and some other things."

"I wouldn't carry any weight, if I were you," he said.

"Oh, I don't mind it," I answered, and off we started.

The mountain to which we were bound was about two miles from the
town. Its nearest side was steep, and in places almost precipitous,
but it sloped away more gradually toward the north, and up that side
a road led by devious windings to a village near the summit. It was
not a very high mountain, but it would do for an afternoon's