"
"Surely, mein Herr."
"Choose two of those long casks, landlord, with bung-holes of the
largest at the sides. Do you possess such a thing as a pack-saddle?"
"Oh, yes."
"And you, my young friend," he said, turning to Kruger's son, "rode here
on a saddle?"
"No," interjected his father; "I ride a saddle, but my son was forced to
content himself with a length of Herr Goebel's coarse cloth, folded four
times, and strapped to the horse's back."
"Then the cloth may still be used as a cushion for the pack-saddle, and
you, my lad, will be compelled to walk, to which I dare venture you are
well accustomed."
The lad grinned, but made no objection.
"Now, landlord, while we eat, fill your casks with wine, then place the
pack-saddle on the back of this young man's horse, and the casks
thereon, for I dare say you have men expert in such a matter."
"There are no better the length of the Rhine," said the landlord
proudly.
"Lay the casks so that the bung-holes are upward, and do not drive the
bungs more tightly in place than is necessary, for they are to be
extracted before Frankfort is reached, that another friend of mine may
profit by the wine.
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