C.), who had broken "down,"
or broken "up," or had gone through some mental and physical smashing
process or other, that necessitated an immediate recourse to mountain
air,--to where he could get it of the right sort and quality with
as little strain or tax on his somewhat shattered nerves as might be
compatible with a dash into the heart of Switzerland at the fag-end
of the swarming tourists' season. "Murren will be too high for him:
distinctly too high for him," thoughtfully observed the distinguished
specialist who had been called in, and had at once prescribed the
"air tonic" in question; "and the Burgenstock would be too low. His
condition requires an elevation of about 3500 feet. Let me see.
Ha! Engelberg is the place for him. My dear lady," he continued,
addressing Mrs. JEPHSON, who had already imbibed the theory that
every altitude, from Primrose Hill to Mont Blanc, suited its special
ailment, the only thing necessary being to hit on the right one, "My
dear lady, get your good husband to Engelberg at once. Write to HERR
CATTANI, Hotel Titlis, Engelberg, Unterwalden, asking what day he can
receive you (use my name), and then, as soon as you can possibly get
off, start. I can promise you it will do wonders for our patient."
[Illustration: Lit de Luxe!]
So, in about five days, we found ourselves, a party of six (including
young JERRYMAN, who said that, though he saw no difference between
Lucerne and Bayswater, except that Bayswater was a "howling
site bigger," he would come, "if only for the lark of seeing the
dilapidated old boy" (his way of referring to his invalid Q.
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