_In Muenchen steht ein Hofbraeuhaus! Eins, Zwei, G'sufa!_ At the _G'sufa_ everybody upped with the mugs and drank each other's health. "This is what I call a real beer bust," I said approvingly. Arth was waving to a waitress. As in the Loewenbraeu tent, a full quart was the smallest amount obtainable. A beer later I said, "I don't know if you'll make it or not, Arth." "Make what?" "All seven tents." "Oh." A waitress was on her way by, mugs foaming over their rims. I gestured to her for refills. "Where are you from, Arth?" I asked him, in the way of making conversation. "2183." "2183 where?" He looked at me, closing one eye to focus better. "Oh," he said. "Well, 2183 South Street, ah, New Albuquerque." "New Albuquerque? Where's that?" Arth thought about it. Took another long pull at the beer. "Right across the way from old Albuquerque," he said finally. "Maybe we ought to be getting on to the Pschorrbraeu tent." "Maybe we ought to eat something first," I said. "I'm beginning to feel this. We could get some of that barbecued ox." Arth closed his eyes in pain. "Vegetarian," he said. "Couldn't possibly eat meat. Barbarous. Ugh." "Well, we need some nourishment," I said. "There's supposed to be considerable nourishment in beer." That made sense. I yelled, "_Fraeulein! Zwei neu bier!_" * * * * * Somewhere along in here the fog rolled in. When it rolled out again, I found myself closing one eye the better to read the lettering on my earthenware mug. It read Augustinerbraeu. Somehow we'd evidently navigated from one tent to another. Arth was saying, "Where's your hotel?" That seemed like a good question. I thought about it for a while. Finally I said, "Haven't got one. Town's jam packed. Left my bag at the Bahnhof. I don't think we'll ever make it, Arth. How many we got to go?" "Lost track," Arth said. "You can come home with me." We drank to that and the fog rolled in again. When the fog rolled out, it was daylight. Bright, glaring, awful daylight. I was sprawled, complete with clothes, on one of twin beds. On the other bed, also completely clothed, was Arth. That sun was too much. I stumbled up from the bed, staggered to the window and fumbled around for a blind or curtain. There was none. Behind me a voice said in horror, "Who ... how ... oh, _Wodo_, where'd you come from?" I got a quick impression, looking out the window, that the Germans were certainly the most modern, futuristic people in the world. But I couldn't stand the light. "Where's the shade," I moaned. Arth did something and the window went opaque. "That's quite a gadget," I groaned. "If I didn't feel so lousy, I'd appreciate it." Arth was sitting on the edge of the bed holding his bald head in his hands. "I remember now," he sorrowed. "You didn't have a hotel. What a stupidity. I'll be phased. Phased all the way down." "You haven't got a handful of aspirin, have you?" I asked him.