We were not dreaming; this was not a make-believe home of the Alp-climber, created by our heated imaginations; no, for here was Mr. Girdlestone himself, the famous Englishman who hunts his way to the most formidable Alpine summits without a guide.  I was not equal to imagining a Girdlestone; it was all I could do to even realize him, while looking straight at him at short range.  I would rather face whole Hyde Parks of artillery than the ghastly forms of death which he has faced among the peaks and precipices of the mountains.  There is probably no pleasure equal to the pleasure of climbing a dangerous Alp; but it is a pleasure which is confined strictly to people who can find pleasure in it.  I have not jumped to this conclusion; I have traveled to it per gravel-train, so to speak.  I have thought the thing all out, and am quite sure I am right.  A born climber’s appetite for climbing is hard to satisfy; when it comes upon him he is like a starving man with a feast before him; he may have other business on hand, but it must wait.  Mr. Girdlestone had had his usual summer holiday in the Alps, and had spent it in his usual way, hunting for unique chances to break his neck; his vacation was over, and his luggage packed for England, but all of a sudden a hunger had come upon him to climb the tremendous Weisshorn once more, for he had heard of a new and utterly impossible route up it.  His baggage was unpacked at once, and now he and a friend, laden with knapsacks, ice-axes, coils of rope, and canteens of milk, were just setting out.  They would spend the night high up among the snows, somewhere, and get up at two in the morning and finish the enterprise.  I had a strong desire to go with them, but forced it down —­a feat which Mr. Girdlestone, with all his fortitude, could not do.

Even ladies catch the climbing mania, and are unable to throw it off.  A famous climber, of that sex, had attempted the Weisshorn a few days before our arrival, and she and her guides had lost their way in a snow-storm high up among the peaks and glaciers and been forced to wander around a good while before they could find a way down.  When this lady reached the bottom, she had been on her feet twenty-three hours!

Our guides, hired on the Gemmi, were already at Zermatt when we reached there.  So there was nothing to interfere with our getting up an adventure whenever we should choose the time and the object.  I resolved to devote my first evening in Zermatt to studying up the subject of Alpine climbing, by way of preparation.

I read several books, and here are some of the things I found out.  One’s shoes must be strong and heavy, and have pointed hobnails in them.  The alpenstock must be of the best wood, for if it should break, loss of life might be the result.  One should carry an ax, to cut steps in the ice with, on the great heights.  There must be a ladder, for there are steep bits of rock which can be surmounted with this instrument—­or this utensil—­but