But I had not taken into account the Professor’s impatience. I found him shouting—and working himself up amidst a crowd of porters and messengers who were all depositing various loads in the passage. Our old servant was at her wits’ end.
“Come, Axel, come, you miserable wretch,” my uncle cried from as far off as he could see me. “Your boxes are not packed, and my papers are not arranged; where’s the key of my carpet bag? And what have you done with my gaiters?”
I stood thunderstruck. My voice failed. Scarcely could my lips utter the words:
“Are we really going?”
“Of course, you unhappy boy! Could I have dreamed that you would have gone out for a walk instead of hurrying your preparations forward?”
“Are we to go?” I asked again, with sinking hopes.
“Yes; the day after tomorrow, early.”
I could hear no more. I fled for refuge into my own little room.
All hope was now at an end. My uncle had been all the morning making purchases of a part of the tools and apparatus required for this desperate undertaking. The passage was encumbered with rope ladders, knotted cords, torches, flasks, grappling irons, alpenstocks, pickaxes, iron shod sticks, enough to load ten men.
I spent an awful night. Next morning I was called early. I had quite decided I would not open the door. But how was I to resist the sweet voice which was always music to my ears, saying, “My dear Axel?”
I came out of my room. I thought my pale countenance and my red and sleepless eyes would work upon Gräuben’s sympathies and change