"Personally, I don't think it good for me, either; it touches my gout." "What suits me best," I said, "is mountain air.

What say you to a walking tour in Scotland ?" "It's always wet in Scotland," said George.

"I was three weeks in Scotland the year before last, and was never dry once all the time--not in that sense." "It's fine enough in Switzerland," said Harris.
"They would never stand our going to Switzerland by ourselves," I objected.

"You know what happened last time.

It must be some place where no delicately nurtured woman or child could possibly live; a country of bad hotels and comfortless travelling; where we shall have to rough it, to work hard, to starve perhaps--" "Easy!" interrupted George, "easy, there! Don't forget I'm coming with you." "I have it!" exclaimed Harris; "a bicycle tour!" George looked doubtful.
"There's a lot of uphill about a bicycle tour," said he, "and the wind is against you." "So there is downhill, and the wind behind you," said Harris.
"I've never noticed it," said George.
"You won't think of anything better than a bicycle tour," persisted Harris.
I was inclined to agree with him.
"And I'll tell you where," continued he; "through the Black Forest." "Why, that's _all_ uphill," said George.
"Not all," retorted Harris; "say two-thirds.