[Illustration: "ONCE MORE THE IDIOT MET ME WITH AN AMIABLE GRIN."]
Some time later I awoke and sat up with a start. Thump, thump,
thump--blows rained steadily, monotonously, on my door. I switched
on the light; it was 3.30 a.m. Springing out of bed, I threw open my
door. The interrupter of my repose, apparently resting against it after
his exertions, fell forward into the room and trod on my bare toes. I
called him, in German, a clumsy donkey, and demanded to know what all
of the noise was about. By way of reply he grinned at me amiably--as if
we had a little joke in common--and promptly retreated.
Puzzled by his behaviour, I looked along the corridor. Everything
appeared to be all right, so I retired again to bed.
Seven minutes, by my watch, had I been sleeping dreamlessly, when again
that tattoo was beaten on my door. I nearly choked with anger, and,
throwing off my quilt, I dashed madly to the door.
Once more the idiot met me with an amiable grin.
"You confounded fool!" I roared, shaking my fist in his beaming face;
"what do you think you're doing? Even if this is an Hungarian game, do
you think this is the time to start teaching it to a stranger? Your
intentions may be good; I admit I am lonely; perhaps in the afternoon I
may be glad to play some simple little game with you. But not now. Do
you understand? Not at three in the morning. Get!"
My vivacity appeared to cause him much satisfaction, and he again took
his departure.