AT THE SWAN INN

The moment the carriage was out of sight the boys turned to their own needs.

“I don’t believe I was ever so hungry in my life,” ejaculated Franz, and the others agreed with him, and set about the best way to have their hunger satisfied.

“Mr. Swan, what have you for supper?” asked Fritz.

The landlord laughed heartily at the name, but as the boy had given it in all sincerity, thinking that, as it was the Swan Inn, it must take its name from its owner, he did not correct him. Instead, he asked a question in response.

“What would you like to have?”

“Have you fresh lettuce?”

“Yes, plenty of it; what else?”

“Roasted potatoes?”

“Yes; you can have roasted potatoes. What kind of meat will you have with it? We have a fine roast of veal.”

“The very thing we like!” cried the boys jubilantly, but the ever frugal Fritz regretted that they had spoken for the veal, and wondered whether they could not change the order.

“I am afraid it will cost us too much,” he said in a whisper, but the landlord had already gone to the kitchen and they had to let it stand.

“It may be that we are in an expensive hotel,” he continued, “and our night’s lodging may cost us a good sum. But I will tell you what we can do. We will not take breakfast here, but will buy a roll in the village and when we come to a brook we can eat it. A roll and a cup of fresh water will be enough breakfast for us.”

“No,” said Franz, “I won’t eat a roll and drink water; I must have my breakfast and coffee; you can drink water, a bucket full if you choose. My father does not wish us to go hungry on this journey. But we can talk about it after we have had our supper.”

“Yes, you are right,” added Paul. “I will have my breakfast and coffee in the morning. And, boys, we are now in a hotel that is more stylish than the one in which we took dinner. We must not eat all that we take on our plates, but will leave a little, then the landlord will think ‘they must have had enough, for they have not eaten all.’”

This brought up a discussion, the other two fearing that if any food were left upon their plates the innkeeper’s feelings would be wounded, believing that they were not satisfied with the food. The dialogue waxed warm, but it was finally decided that they would take more upon their plates than they could eat, and thus could leave some, to spare the feelings of the innkeeper by letting him know that they had enough. They also decided that they would not eat so hurriedly and greedily as at dinner. Just then supper was announced, and the three hungry travelers went to the supper-room and took their places.

In addition to the dish of roast veal, lettuce and potatoes, there was a plate of white rolls and a dish of stewed pears.

The boys forgot their agreement in regard to eating slowly, and the viands disappeared like frost in the beams of a July sun. The lettuce and stewed pears had disappeared like magic, and but one piece of the veal and two rolls remained.

They arose from the table and were about to leave, when Fritz took the piece of veal upon his fork and ate it.

“What is the use of leaving it when one has an appetite for it?” he said.

“Then as none of the veal is left we may as well eat the rolls,” said Franz. Paul agreed and the plate was empty, and nothing was left to prove to the landlord that they had more than enough.

“Oh, boys, we have again forgotten to feed Pixy!” said Fritz. “You see my little sister feeds him at home and that is the reason that I forget him.”

This was a misfortune and there was no help for it but to tell the innkeeper.

“Would you give Pixy his supper for three pennies?” asked Fritz.

“Oh, don’t bother about the dog. He has had his supper in the yard. Don’t you see how well he is sleeping on the porch?”

The three now concluded to take a walk through the village, followed or rather guided by Pixy, who could be trusted without his rope in that quiet place, but they soon returned and asked to be shown to their room. The landlord led the way to a large, pleasant room with three single beds in it, and pointed to a piece of carpet for Pixy, for Fritz had asked permission for him to share their room. Then he wished them a good sleep, bade them good-night and went below.

The room was different from any that they had ever seen, not at all like theirs in their own homes. It was not square, but had many nooks and corners which the light of one candle could not reach. Paul said it was like a room he once read of, which had a secret door which led down to an underground passage where travelers were robbed and left there to find their way out if they could. This blood-curdling narrative filled the hearers’ minds with fears of what might happen, and they resolved to barricade the door. They locked it, and then pushed the washstand and chairs against it.

“A robber could not push these things away without waking us,” remarked Paul.

“No, and before he could get in, Pixy would be ready to fly at him,” said Fritz proudly.

This was a great comfort to the three and they prepared to disrobe for sleep.

“We have not much money to waste for lodging,” remarked Fritz, “and if we sleep in three beds we will have to pay for three; let us all sleep in one, and we will have to pay for but one.”

This was a great stroke of policy, and the others agreed heartily. Although each bed was only intended for one grown person, the boys thought they could manage it.

“Let Paul sleep in the middle because he is the slimmest,” Fritz said. “I will sleep back and Franz can sleep front.”

This met with approval and then Franz made a suggestion.

“Wise travelers always put their money under their pillows,” he said, “then a burglar cannot get it without waking them. We will tie the three pocketbooks together, and put them under Paul’s head, then a robber would have to reach over Fritz or me to get it.”

This was considered an excellent scheme, and the three dropped into bed and in five minutes were asleep.

Pixy considered the situation for a minute, then sprang upon the foot of the bed, curled around and was soon in the land of dreams.

All went well until Fritz had a troubled dream. He had fallen out of bed, had rolled under it, and thought he was in a trunk with the lid partly shut down and he could not get out, so set up a wailing cry.

“What is the matter in there?” called the landlord from outside the door.

“Oh, I don’t know where I am!” cried Fritz.

“Well, open the door and I will soon see. Oh, it is locked. Well, never mind. I will come through the portiere way.”

He soon appeared with a light, and Fritz crept from under the bed and sat blinking beside it.

The three boys were astonished to see the landlord in their room without having to ask them to remove the barricade. They did not know that the portiere hung before an open door leading into the hall as did the one they had taken so much trouble to make secure.

“Now, boys,” he said, laughing heartily, “have you lost your senses, or had you none to lose? Now tell me, Fritz, why were you under the bed?”

“I don’t know how I got there, but I dreamed that I was in a trunk and the lid was almost down, and I could not raise it.”

“Oh, you silly boy! of course you fell out of that narrow bed. What possessed you to all crowd in there when there are three beds in the room?”

“We did not wish to pay for all three.”

“Then why did you not tell me that you wished only one bed, and I would have put you in a room where there is a larger one? Now, why did you barricade the door?”

“We were afraid of robbers,” explained Paul after a long pause.

This amused the innkeeper mightily and he laughed till he shook.

“Locked and barred one door and left the other standing wide open!” he said with tears of mirth in his eyes.

“Well, well,” he said, “no harm is done. Now each one get into a bed, with no heed to the pay. Mr. Furman has paid the whole bill for your stay here in return for the sweet songs you sang for him.”

The boys made great eyes over this piece of news, and lost no time in getting themselves into the other beds.

“Wait, boys! You must first put the pieces of furniture back in their places, then go to bed and sleep well. You yet have several hours. What time do you wish to leave in the morning?”

“At six o’clock we must be on our way.”

“All right,” said the jolly landlord, and as he glanced at their rosy, bright faces, each in his own bed, he laughed, shook his head and went out, and soon the three boys and Pixy were sound asleep.

It is not known how long they would have slept had not the landlord paid them another visit.

“You have slept past the breakfast hour. Do you intend sleeping until dinner time?” he asked laughingly.

“No indeed! What time is it?” asked Fritz, opening his eyes sleepily.

“Nine o’clock and I thought you wished to start at six.”

“Up, you sleepers!” cried the boy, as he sprang out of bed. The others obeyed promptly and commenced dressing, and in a short time appeared with clean hands, faces and teeth, at the good breakfast provided for them, their hair neatly brushed, and their spirits refreshed from a sound sleep in comfortable beds. On the back porch was a dish of good food for Pixy, that he might be ready to go as soon as the boys finished the meal.

When they were about to continue their journey, the landlord gave each of them a large roll and one for Pixy, saying that it would stay hunger until they reached an inn where they could take dinner.

Pixy was delighted to see them again on the move, and while the boys were bidding the host and hostess good-bye ran out in the street; and before his master caught up with him, he was in the midst of a fight with street curs. Fritz ran to protect his pet, who was taking his own part bravely, and Peter, the waiter at the inn, ran with a bucket of cold water which he dashed upon the circling mass of yelpers, and the fight was brought to a sudden finish.

Pixy came out of the combat sound, and ready for another fight, and Fritz was unharmed; the only injury being to the seat of his trousers, from which a piece had been torn by one of the street curs as a souvenir of the first visit to Umstadt.

“Come here, child;” called the landlady to Fritz, “you cannot go among the stylish people of Frankfort with the hem of your shirt showing. I will mend it as well as I can, and when you get there, your aunt can mend it better. Now see what trouble your dog has brought upon you!”

“Pixy didn’t tear my pants. It was one of the strange dogs. I am glad I brought him.”

“No, your dog did not tear them, but if he had not been here there would not have been a fight.”

“But he did not commence it. They fought him, and he had to defend himself.”

“That too is true, but they do not wish a strange dog among them, nor will other dogs he meets on his travels. So he should have been left at home. Now go up to your room and take one of the boys with you to bring down your trousers, and I will do the best I can to mend them.”

This was done, and Fritz sat disconsolately upon a chair waiting for the return of Paul. He began to question within himself whether he had done a wise thing to bring Pixy. The first dogs they had met had fought him, and it might be that he would get worsted in many a battle before he was again safely at home.

At length Paul brought up the trousers, but to Fritz’s dismay the patch was of different color. His father being a cloth merchant, the cloth was of good quality and Fritz had always been rather proud of it, but now to have a dark blue patch on dark brown trousers was mortifying indeed. But there was no help for it. The good woman had done the best she could, and he must wear them until he reached Frankfort.

A happy thought came to Paul. “Wear your rain-coat,” he said. “It is long enough to hide the patch.”

Franz, who had come up to learn the cause of delay, thought it an excellent idea, so ran down and brought up the knapsack containing the coat.

Fritz put it on, much relieved that the objectionable ornament was hidden from public view, and the three went below to resume their journey.

More than an hour had been lost by this mishap, and the landlord advised that they take the train to Frankfort in continuance of their journey.

“But we set out to walk, and told everybody that we were going to walk, and we will walk,” responded Fritz resolutely.

“That would be all right if you had started early enough. You might then by steady walking have made the journey before dark. As it is, you cannot reach there until night which would be rather hard for you in a strange city, and you would have to wake your aunt out of sleep to let you in.”

“But we have an hour yet until dinner time. We can walk a long distance in an hour.”

“All right, then. Good-bye, and a pleasant journey.”

“Good-bye, and a pleasant journey,” echoed Peter, who, having cleaned the dust from the shoes of the three, carried their wash-water up to their room, and thrown water on the fighting dogs, was in evidence on the porch waiting for tips.

“Will we give him anything?” whispered Paul.

“No,” replied Fritz. “I would think if Mr. Furman paid for all, he would not forget to give Peter something for waiting upon us. Come on.”

Had they opened their hearts to give the waiting Peter a few pennies, it would have saved them much anxiety, but they walked away without casting one backward glance.

They felt somewhat weary from their walk of the day before, yet enjoyed the fresh air, the song of the birds, the fragrant smell of woods and meadows; and Pixy frolicked along sometimes before and sometimes behind them, but never losing sight of his master.

They had walked more than a mile when Fritz halted suddenly and grasped the arm of Paul.

“Did you take our money from under your pillow?” he asked.

“I? No, I never thought about it. You put it under the pillow, and I have never thought of it since seeing you put it there.”

“Now, Paul, it was Franz and I who went to the other beds, you were left in the one where the money was hidden. You must have it, and are only trying to scare us. Of course, you would not leave it under the pillow.”

“Of course I did! I tell you that I never thought of it once.”

“Then, Franz, you would not forget it. Certainly you have it in your pocket.”

“Certainly I have not! I have never thought of it since you put it under the pillow.”

“Oh, that is too bad!” cried Fritz, flushing with dismay. “We will have to go back to the inn and get it.”

“Not I,” asserted Franz. “I would be ashamed to go back. Remember how Mr. Swan laughed because we stacked things against the door.”

“Nor will I,” echoed Paul stoutly.

“Then we can go no further on our journey to Frankfort; we will have to go back home, for we have no money.”

“Now just see!” ejaculated Paul, “you remembered the dog which is of no use to us, and forgot the money that we cannot do without. We must go back for it,” and like the sons of Jacob returning to Egypt, they turned their faces toward Umstadt.

A slight coolness reigned among the triplets; a cloud rested upon the brows of Franz and Paul that for the forgetfulness of Fritz they must face the landlord, and more than that the tipless Peter. So with red cheeks and eyes cast down they returned to the Swan inn, and the landlord met them at the door with a smiling welcome.

“I expected you,” he said. “You remind me of the story of the traveler who upon his journey came to a cross road, and, not knowing which to take, returned home. But I judge you had a better reason that it will be a great pleasure to you to relate.”

On their way back Fritz had said, “If the money is under the pillow we can get it, and there will be no need of telling the hotel people why we came back. Then they will not have a chance to laugh at us.”

The others agreed to this, so he was ready with his reply.

“Yes, sir; we left a trifle under our pillow, and came back to get it.”

“Only a trifle?”

“A small package, but as we do not wish to leave it, we came back for it.”

“That was quite right. You can go up and seek for it.”

The three flew up the steps, but soon returned with long faces and tearful eyes.

“We have not found it, Mr. Swan,” they said.

“But if it is only a trifle, why need you care?” asked the landlord, laughing heartily. “But,” he added, “there are sometimes important things left by travelers, for this morning our chambermaid found in one of the rooms this handkerchief in which is tied three small pocketbooks,” and he held it up out of reach of the boys.

“It is ours,” cried the boys gleefully. “Give it to us, please,” and they reached for it.

“Hands off!” laughed the landlord. “How am I to know that the purses are yours, when you said you had left a trifle? So it cannot be your money; for money is no trifle to a traveler. In truth nothing is more useful to him. It will supply him with a bed, comfortable room, good meals, and with it he can pay something for having his dusty shoes cleaned after a day’s walk. Now do you think money is a trifle when with it you can have bed, meals, and service such as brushing dusty shoes? All these things can be had for a piece of paper, or a coin that you can hide under your tongue. Then is money really a trifle? Even if there is not much money in these little purses, yet what would you do if they were not returned to you?”

“Oh, please forgive us that we have been so foolish,” pleaded Fritz. “The purses are ours and we came back to get them, and we can tell you of every penny that is in each of them. I have a ”

“Oh, you do not need to tell me! I knew that they could belong only to you. They are just as Letta, our chambermaid, found them. Our people are honest.”

“Where is she? and where is Peter? We wish to give them something.”

“Peter, Letta, come! You are wanted,” called the landlord, and they came and stood waiting to hear the reason for being summoned.

Each of the boys in the meantime had his purse in his hand, and they were holding a hurried and whispered conversation which ended by them taking twenty cents from each purse, ten for Letta and ten for Peter, who received it with smiling faces. The travelers felt that they had done the right thing, their self-respect was restored, and they were about to start again upon their travels when a new thought came to Fritz.

“At what time do you have dinner here, Mr. Swan?” he asked.

Again the landlord could not control his laughter, as he replied, “It will be ready in half an hour.”

“Suppose we stay,” said Fritz, turning to his companions. “I am terribly hungry.”

“So am I,” echoed Paul.

“So am I,” agreed Franz.

“I was about to suggest that you take dinner with us,” said their host. “It is quite a distance to the next public house.”

“What will you have for dinner, Mr. Swan?”

“Liverwurst, roast potatoes, stewed pears, and warm brown bread with butter.”

“I love every one of those things,” remarked Franz.

“What will the dinner cost each of us?” asked Fritz.

“What would it cost?” echoed the innkeeper as if reflecting. “Oh, we will not talk of that. All I can say is that we wish every one who eats here to have plenty, and after the meal is over we can tell better what it is worth.”

“We will stay,” said the boys jubilantly, and removed their knapsacks. When dinner was served their host led the way to the dining-room and gave them places, and took his own. His wife was already at the table, then followed Letta and Peter. The landlord removed his skull-cap, bowed his head reverently as did the others and asked a blessing upon the meal; then he and his wife told the boys to help themselves, which they did forthwith from the large plates well-filled which they had placed before them.

Peter, who sat opposite, was filled with admiration of their powers of endurance, and said to himself, as the viands disappeared with astonishing celerity, “How much will it take to fill them when they are men? They make me think of our William when he was a growing boy, and had eaten all he could hold, father would say, ’William, are you satisfied,’ and he would say, ’No, father. I am full, but I am not satisfied.’”

But notwithstanding the comparison with the insatiable William, the boys expressed themselves as fully satisfied when every vessel of food had disappeared from the plates, and when they returned to the reception-room told the landlord that they had heartily enjoyed the excellent dinner and asked again the cost of it for each.

“The cost? Well now, let me state the case as it really stands,” said the smiling landlord. “If you had come and ordered a dinner of the kind you wished, and took seats at the public table, with a servant to wait upon you, I should have charged you the same that I would charge any other guest. But you just sat down with us at our family table, and shared the plain dinner that had been prepared for us, so I do not charge you anything.”

“But we did have just the kind of dinner we like,” said Fritz, “and I am afraid our fathers would not like us to go away without paying for it.”

“Oh, boys, don’t worry. Your fathers have taken many a dinner here, and, God willing, will take many more. All I ask of you is to take my advice by going to the station and taking the train for Frankfort. If you go now you will be in good time to catch the afternoon train for Frankfort. Now good-bye and a pleasant journey!”

The three boys shouldered their knapsacks, Fritz still wearing his rain-coat, although the sun shone brightly, and went through the market place on their way to the station, Pixy in the lead carrying a bone that Letta had given him after he finished his dinner, while the family gathered on the porch and watched their slow movements with tears of mirth in their eyes.

They had intended walking to Frankfort for two reasons. It would be something of an exploit to relate to their schoolfellows, and it would save money; but slow as they traveled to the station, the train seemed to have waited for them for they were in ample time.

“Do you wish single fares, or return tickets?” asked the clerk.

This was a question which could not be settled too quickly. The boys held a consultation, and Fritz gave the deciding opinion.

“If we buy a return ticket,” he explained, “we will save money, but we may want to walk back, and then would have to lose what we pay for a return ticket. Besides, if we did not want to ride home, some one of us, or it may be all of us, might lose our return ticket, and Aunt Fanny would insist giving us money for tickets which we would not wish her to do. No, we will take single fares.”

They bought them, and were about to step into a car when they were stopped by the conductor.

“Where is your ticket for the dog?” he asked.

“Must I have a ticket for him?” asked the boy, in surprise.

“I should say so! You must be a kindergarten youngster to ask such a question. Moreover, if anybody in the car objects to having him in there, you will have to take him in a freight car even if you have a ticket for him.”

“I object,” said a woman, sitting in the car next the window. “Who wants to get dog hairs on them when traveling for pleasure?”

“What shall we do?” asked Fritz, ready to cry.

“Get a ticket and get it quickly for the train will soon start, and put the dog in the freight car.”

“But I must go with him. He would be frightened to be there without me.”

“Certainly. You can go as freight if you wish. I have nothing to say against it.”

Fritz hurried away, secured the ticket and returned, sad with the thought of being separated from his companions, but smiles came again to his face when they told him that they would go to the freight car with him.

They hurried in, and the train moved off while they were looking about them, hoping to see among the freight some boxes that would serve for seats.

They were nearly thrown off their feet, while Pixy, not at all unsettled by the motion of the cars, saw something so interesting in a slatted box filled with chickens that he sniffed and capered about in doggish delight. But the chickens were not at all pleased with his appearance, and fluttered, cackled and shrieked, awakening the old woman who was taking them to market.

“Whose black fiend of a dog is that, running loose about a freight car?” she exclaimed angrily.

“It is mine, good lady,” said Fritz soothingly. “I did not wish him to frighten your chickens.”

“How do I know that you did not set him on them while I was asleep? If he has hurt them, you will pay well for them.”

“See, here is the cord that I hold him with,” said the boy, taking it from his knapsack. “I will tie it to his collar, and he will not go near your chickens again.”

But all that he could say was but oil to the fire, and Fritz found that the wiser plan for him was to keep silent; while Pixy, understanding that the storm of words had something to do with him, crept behind the box on which his master sat and looked up at him with a very penitent air.

The seats the boys had taken did not prove permanent, for at every station some of the freight must be taken out, and some brought in, but they enjoyed the trip, for the old woman and her chickens left the car at one of the stations, and they had the place to themselves.

“Is this Frankfort?” they asked at every station.

“No,” the guard replied, “and I expect you to ask at every stopping place until we really reach Frankfort, and then you will not ask.”

“Why?” asked Fritz.

“Because you will know without asking.”

Presently Franz called out, “Hurrah, we are here!”

“Where?” asked Fritz, hurrying to the window.

“At Frankfort. See, we are crossing a river. It is the Main. Yes, there is the dome! I know it from the picture of the cathedral in my picture of Frankfort.”

“Didn’t I say that you wouldn’t ask if this is Frankfort? Now boys, out with you, and take your dog. Good-bye!”