“I have a little fever too.” Hans Castorp further observed.

“You don’t say!” Behrens cried out. “I suppose you think you are telling me news? Do you think I’ve no eyes in my head?” He pointed with his great index finger to his goggling, bloodshot, watery eyes. “Well, and how much?”

Hans Castorp modestly mentioned the figure.

“Forenoon, eh? H’m, that’s not so bad. Not bad at all, for a beginner⁠—shows talent. Very good then, the two of you, tomorrow at two. Very much honoured. Well, so long⁠—enjoy yourselves!” He paddled away downhill, his knees bent, leaving a long streamer of cigar smoke behind him.