But there came an end to Rex’s patience. One morning, when they were sitting over their coffee out of doors, Mr Blumenthal walked into their midst. He wore an old flannel shirt, and trousers too tight for him, inadequately held up by a strap. He displayed a tin bait box and a red and green float, and said he had come to inquire of Rex “vere to dig a leetle vorms,” and also to borrow of him “dot feeshpole mitn seelbern ringes.” The request, and the grossness of his appearance before the ladies, were too much for a gentleman and an angler. Rex felt his gorge rise, and standing up brusquely, he walked away. Ruth thoughtlessly slipped after him and murmured over his shoulder: “Friend of yours?” Gethryn’s fists unclenched and came out of his pockets and he and Ruth went away together, laughing under the trees. Mr Blumenthal stood where Rex had left him, holding out the bait-box and gazing after them. Then he turned and looked at the colonel and his wife. Perspiration glistened on his pasty, pale face and the rolls of fat that crowded over his flannel collar. His little, dead, white-rimmed, pale gray eyes had the ferocity of a hog’s which has found something to rend and devour. He looked into their shocked faces and made a bow. “Goot ma—a—rnin, Mister and Missess Dene!” he said, and turned his back. The elderly couple exchanged glances as he disappeared. “We won’t mention this to the children,” said the gentle old lady. That was the last they saw of him. Nobody knew where he kept himself in the interval, but about a week later he came running down with a valise in his hand and jumped into a carriage from the “Green Bear” at Schicksalsee, which had just brought some people out and was returning empty. He forgot to give the usual “Trinkgeld” to the servants, and a lively search in his room discovered nothing but a broken collar button and a crumpled telegram in French. But Grethi had her compensation that evening, when she led the conversation in the kitchen and Mr Blumenthal was discussed in several South German dialects. By this time August was well advanced, but there had been as yet no “Jagd-partie,” as Sepp called the hunting excursion planned with such enthusiasm weeks before. After that first day in the trout stream, Ruth not only suffered more from fatigue than she had expected, but the little cough came back, causing her parents to draw the lines of discipline very tight indeed.