“Yes. It’s the not knowing that’s so worrying. It’s like wandering about in a fog with collisions and smashes going on all about one and no chance of seeing what’s up. I’d sooner know the worst than nothing at all. I wanted to stop at the jolly little Golden Lion at Hospenthal. I stopped three days there once and I’ve always wanted to go back. But if we can get as far as Realp it will shorten to-morrow’s walk over the Furka. The hotels at Gletsch are only for millionaires, not for tramps like us.” So they started off, determined to push along to Realp, or even to Tiefenbach if they could manage it, but Fate had arranged for them to stop at Hospenthal after all. While they sat at lunch the sky darkened. The rain began before they had gone half a mile, and it came down in such sheets that Ray considered the advisability of turning back. But Lois would not hear of it, so with their Loden cloaks outside their rucksacs, they plodded on up the stony road which very soon became a river, while the mountain tops all round took on new white coats of snow. “We’ll have a rough time on the Furka to-morrow,” said Ray. “I know what it’s like in snow.” “I think I’d sooner have snow than cataracts like this. Will these cloaks keep the wet out?” “They will, my child. The wetter they get outside, the less gets through.” “Then it’s all right. We’ll stop at your little hotel as soon as we come to it and get dry stockings on.” “And a jolly big fire and a first-rate supper. We’ll be as cosy as cats.” “Who are all these men in front?” “Weary ploughmen plodding their homeward way. But they look to me like Italian navvies--about the unpleasantest class of person you can meet in Switzerland. The rain’s too much for them, I suppose, so they’re knocking off for the day.” “Here’s another lot coming the other way.” “Switzers these, by the look of them.” The two bands of about a score each passed one another some distance ahead of them, just about where the road forked, and one part struck up to the left towards the stony desolations and frowning peaks of the Gothard. “Hello!” cried Ray. “What on earth are they up to?” For the dark clump of men now nearest them, the Switzers,--halted suddenly, and turned, and then, as though moved by one spring, these made a dash at the others and flung themselves on them with shouts and blows till they broke and fled up the stony way. “Well, well!” said Ray, watching keenly. “That’s a little bit of racial feeling right under our noses, unless I’m mistaken. Symptomatic of the times. The Colonel said there was no love lost between them, and here’s the proof of it. War’s in the air, my child.” The Switzers having chased their opponents well up the stony road came swinging along now with cheerful faces and martial tread. “What was it?” asked Ray as they came up.