that discipline is a subtle bond depending 'not on force but
on an attitude of the mind,' he continued--

'And so TO CUT A LONG STORY SHORT we come round to the north again.'
Then he added, 'It is customary also to divide each of these points
into quarters. Thus NNE. 3/4 E. signifies...'

But at this point the young fool, whose hands were clasped behind him
and concealed a marlin-spike, up and killed the old sailor, and so
rounded off this fascinating tale.

Well then, to cut a long story short, I had to make forced marches.
With eight francs and ten centimes, and nearer ninety than eighty-five
miles before the next relief, it was necessary to plan and then to
urge on heroically. Said I to myself, 'The thing can be done quite
easily. What is ninety miles? Two long days! Who cannot live on four
francs a day? Why, lots of men do it on two francs a day.'

But my guardian angel said to me, 'You are an ass! Ninety miles is a
great deal more than twice forty-five. Besides which' (said he) 'a
great effort needs largeness and ease. Men who live on two francs a
day or less are not men who attempt to march forty-five miles a day.
Indeed, my friend, you are pushing it very close.'

'Well,' thought I, 'at least in such a glorious air, with such Hills
all about one, and such a race, one can come to no great harm.'

But I knew within me that Latins are hard where money is concerned,
and I feared for my strength. I was determined to push forward and to
live on little. I filled my lungs and put on the spirit of an attempt
and swung down the valley.

Alas! I may not linger on that charge, for if I did I should not give
you any measure of its determination and rapidity. Many little places
passed me off the road on the flanks of that valley, and mostly to the
left. While the morning was yet young, I came to the packed little
town of Bodio, and passed the eight franc limit by taking coffee,
brandy, and bread. There also were a gentleman and a lady in a
carriage who wondered where I was going, and I told them (in French)
'to Rome'. It was nine in the morning when I came to Biasca. The sun
was glorious, and not yet warm: it was too early for a meal. They gave
me a little cold meat and bread and wine, and seven francs stood out
dry above the falling tide of my money.

Here at Biasca the valley took on a different aspect. It became wider
and more of a countryside; the vast hills, receding, took on an
appearance of less familiar majes