"I wish I could have found time while I was there to have gone outside the hotel and have had a look round.

Still, it is pleasant to think one has been there." "I suppose you did not have much time ?" his friend would suggest.
"We did not get there till the evening," the tourist would explain.

"We were busy till dark buying postcards, and then in the morning there was the writing and addressing to be done, and when that was over, and we had had our breakfast, it was time to leave again." He would take up another card showing the panorama from a mountain top.
"Sublime! colossal!" he would cry enraptured.

"If I had known it was anything like that, I'd have stopped another day and had a look at it." It was always worth seeing, the arrival of a party of German tourists in a Schwartzwald village.

Leaping from the coach they would surge round the solitary gendarme.
"Where is the postcard shop ?" "Tell us--we have only two hours--where do we get postcards ?" The gendarme, scenting _Trinkgeld_, would head them at the double-quick: stout old gentlemen unaccustomed to the double-quick, stouter Frauen gathering up their skirts with utter disregard to all propriety, slim _Fraulein_ clinging to their beloved would run after him.