hot Feuer
under the said hot Wasser, and in that hot Wasser put the eggs and
keep them there zehn Minuten, zwanzig Minuten, or a day or a week--any
length of time, so that they are only boiled hard, just like stones,
brickbats, rocks, boulders or the gray granite crest of Yosemite? I
want mine eggs hard." Then I ground my teeth and looked wicked and
savage, and squirmed viciously in my chair. There was some improvement
in the eggs that morning, but they were not hard boiled.

The Viennese spend most of their time in the open air, drinking beer
and coffee, reading light newspapers, eating and smoking. In the
English and American sense they have neither politics nor religion.
The government and the Church provide these articles, leaving the
people little to do save enjoy themselves, float lazily down life's
stream, and die when their souls become too spiritualized to remain
longer in their bodies.

I am fast becoming German. I have my coffee at nine: it requires two
hours to drink it. Then I dream a little, smoke a cigar and drink a
glass of beer. At twelve comes dinner. This I eat at a cafe table on
the sidewalk, with more beer. At two I take a nap. At five I awake,
drink another glass of beer, and dream. From that time until nine is
occupied in getting hungry for supper. This occupies two hours. Then
more beer and tobacco. Some time in the night I retire. Sometimes I am
aware of the operation of disrobing, sometimes not. This is Viennese
life. One day merges into another in a vague, misty sort of way. Time
is not checked off into short, sharp divisions as in busy, bustling
America. From the windows opposite mine, on the other side of the
street, protrude Germans with long pipes. They sit there hour
after hour, those pipes hanging down a foot below the window-sill.
Occasionally they emit a puff of smoke. This is the only sign of life
about them.

The window-sills are furnished with cushions to lean on when you gaze
forth. The one in mine is continually dropping down into the
street below, and a man in a brass-mounted cap, who calls himself a
"Dienstmann," does a good business in picking it up and bringing it
up stairs at ten kreutzers a trip. The kreutzer is a copper coin
equivalent to an English farthing. Every day here seems a sort of
holiday, and in this respect Sunday stands pre-eminent.

The ladies, as a rule, are fine-looking, shapely, well-dressed and
particular as to the fit of their gaiters and hose--a mos