An “Appareil de cuisson alpin, Ideal” went without saying, like the air one breathes.  It composed itself, according to the voluble attendant who displayed it, of six parts, each part far better than the others.  There was a gamelle, with a “crochet pour l’enlever” and a couvercle, which, not to show itself proud, would lend its services also as an assiette or a poele a frire.  There was the burner of alcohol; there was “le couvercle de celui-ci,” which served equally to measure the spirit, and there was a charming appareil brise vent which had the air of defying tornadoes.  When I had secured this treasure, Molly drew my attention to a series of aluminium boxes made to fit eggs and sandwiches.  I bought these also, and, pleased with the clean white metal, invested in plates, goblets, and water bottles of the same.  Next came a couvert pliant, containing knife, fork, and spoon; and, lest I should be guilty of selfishness, I ordered a duplicate for the man who would look after the mule.  Best of all, however, were the tinned soups, meats, vegetables, puddings, and cocoas, which you simply set on the fire in their bright little cans, and heated till they sent forth a steamy fragrance.  Then you ate or drank them, and were happy as a king.

Molly and I selected a number of these, and completed the list with a sleeping bag and a tente de touriste, which she persuaded me would be indispensable when lost in the mountains, as I was sure to be, often.

When my goods and chattels came to be collected, we were shocked to find that the mule-pack would not contain them.  The question remained, then, whether I should sacrifice these new possessions, already dear, or whether I should doom my mule to carry a greater burden.  The attendant intimated that Swiss mules preferred heavy loads, and had they the vocal gifts of Balaam’s ass, would demand them.  Swayed by my desires and his arguments, I changed my pack for a larger one.  After more than an hour in the shop, we tore ourselves away, leaving word that the things should be sent by post to Lucerne.  We then repaired to the Bear Pit, by way of the Clock, and having supplied ourselves with plenty of carrots, had no cause to complain of our reception.

[Illustration]

CHAPTER V

In Search of a Mule

“Yes, we await it, but it still delays, and then we suffer.” 
—­MATTHEW ARNOLD.

“When I arose and saw the dawn, I sighed for thee . . . 
Come, long-sought!”
—­PERCY BYSSHE SHELLEY.

Jack no longer attempted to dissuade me from my walking tour.  Whether Molly had talked to him, or whether he had, unprompted, seen the error of his ways, I cannot tell, but the fact remains that, during the rest of our run to Lucerne, he showed a lively interest in the forthcoming trip.

“I suppose,” said he, when we had caught our first sight of Pilatus (seen, as one might say, on his back premises), “I suppose that anywhere in Switzerland, there ought to be no trouble about finding a good pack-mule.  Somehow one thinks of Switzerland and mules together, just as one does of bacon and eggs, or nuts and raisins, and yet, I can’t recall ever having come across any mules in Lucerne, can you, Monty?”