gorgeous. And, if it was wet, we could go to the--the--"

"Kursaal," said Berry. "No, not Kursaal. It's like that, though."

"Casino?"

"That's it--Casino. And then we could go on to Nice and Cannes, and--"

"You're going too fast, aren't you? Servia comes before Cannes,
doesn't it?"

"Well, Servia, too."

"All right," said Berry. "I was going to suggest that we joined the
Danube at Limoges, went up as far as Milan, where the falls are, and
then struck off to Toledo, taking Warsaw on the way, but--"

"That'd be rather a long way round, wouldn't it?" said Jill, all
seriousness in her grey eyes.

"Ah, I mean the Spanish Toledo, not the one in the States."

"Oh, I see--"

She checked herself suddenly and looked round. "He's laughing at me,"
she said. "What have I said wrong?"

"If anyone asked me where we should be without our Jill," said Berry,
"I couldn't tell them."

When we began to discuss the tour in good earnest, the argument proper
began. I had suggested that we should make for Frankfort, to start
with, and Daphne and Jonah rather favoured Germany. Berry, however,
wanted to go to Austria. It was after a casual enough remark of
Jonah's that the roads in Germany were very good that Berry really got
going.

"The roads good?" he said. "That settles it--say no more. The
survey, which is, after all, the object of our holiday (sic), will be
able to be made with success. If we start at once, we shall be able to
get the book published by Christmas: 'Road Surfaces in Germany,' by a
Hog."

"The old German towns are fascinating," said Daphne.

"Nothing like them," said Berry. "I can smell some of them now. Can
you not hear the cheerful din of the iron tires upon the cobbled
streets? Can you not see the grateful smile spreading over the
beer-sodden features of the cathedral verger, as he pockets the money
we pay for the privilege of following an objectionable rabble round an
edifice, which we shall remember more for the biting chill of its
atmosphere than anything else? And then the musty quiet of the
museums, and the miles we shall cover in the picture galleries, halting
now and then to do a brief gloat in front of one of Van Stunk's
masterpieces..."

"My heart leaps up when I behold a Van Stunk on the wall. Wordsworth
knew his Englishman, didn't he?"

"Oh, well, if you're so dead against it--"

"Against it, dear. How can I be against it? Why, we may even be
arrested as spies! Th