"I know that," said Koster. "But I've never ridden in one of those things.
I'd like to try once."
We beckoned a driver and drove down the hairpin bends to the village.
Outside a cafe that had a little sunny lawn we stopped and got out.
All sorts of people were there, and some I recognised from the sanatorium.
The Italian from the bar was among them.
He was called Antonio, and came to our table to greet Pat.
He told us some practical jokers last night had rolled one patient, while he slept, bed and all out of his room into the room of the stone-age schoolmistress.
"Why did they do that?" I asked.
"He's cured and going out in a few days," replied Antonio. "They're always doing that sort of thing."
"It's the famous gallows humour of those who are left behind, darling," said Pat.
"One does get childish up here," observed Antonio apologetically.
Cured, thought I; one is cured and going back.
"What do you want to drink, Pat?" I asked.
"A Martini. A good dry Martini."
A radio started to play.
Viennese waltzes.
They floated through the warm sunny air like soft, bright banners.
The waiter brought the Martinis.
They were very cold, and beading still as the sun shone on them.
"Lovely to sit like this, isn't it?"
"Grand," I replied.
"But sometimes it's unbearable," said she.
We remained down to lunch.
Pat wanted it particularly.
Latterly she had had to stay in the sanatorium and this was her first outing; she had told them there she would feel twice as well if only she could lunch in the village.
Antonio dined with us.
Afterwards we drove up again and Pat went to her room to lie down for two hours.
Koster and I fetched Karl from the garage and looked him over.
We had to change two broken springs.
The garage man had tools and we set to work.
Then we filled up with oil and greased the chassis thoroughly.
When all was done we ..pushed him out.
With hanging ears and spattered with mud he stood in the snow.
"Should we wash him?" I asked.
"No, not en route," said Koster. "He doesn't like it."
Pat joined us.
She looked warm and rested.
Her dog was jumping around her.
"Billy!" I called.
He stopped and looked, but he wasn't overfriendly.
He did not recognise me, and was quite disconcerted when Pat called my attention to him.
"So soon," said I. "Thank God, human beings have better memories.
Where was he yesterday then?"
Pat laughed.
"He lay under the bed the whole day.
He's jealous when I have visitors, and then retires and sulks."
"You look wonderful," said I.
She glanced at me happily.
Then she walked up to Karl.