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The wild man wends his weary way 
To a strange and lonely pump. 
Yet it seemed somehow familiar. It drew nigh; yes, it was Arthur Ellis. I expressed surprise; but he 
said that he had felt so much better he thought he might as well come down, but it had been a long 
and terrible day. He had started at dawn. This was absurd, as it was only a couple of hours' easy 
walking from the hut. Ah yes, he said, but he had come down over the snout of the glacier and he 
had had to cut steps all the way --- no more glissading for him! This story was again rather 
incredible. But his axe had been tremendously knocked about. The truth slowly dawned on my 
benighted brain: he had solemnly cut his way down the mule path --- he was the chamois whose 
tracks the girls had seen! 
Well, it was not time for me to join my friends at Arolla; but I 
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wasn't going to climb any more with Ellis, so I made my excuses and departed. 
The fag-end of the story is as peculiar as the rest. We arranged to dine together in London and 
when I got back I wrote to him. He replied at once, asking me to dine with him at his club. I duly 
turned up; but he was not there and I have never heard a word of him since! 
Another very amusing incident occurred at Arolla. A little way above the old hotel is a large 
boulder, which had never been climbed from the hotel side. I spent some time before I found out 
how to do it. One had to traverse the face to the right, with a minimum of hand hold and foot hold, 
until one came to a place where the slope eased off. But this point was defended by a bulge in the 
rock which threw one out. It was just possible for a very slim man with a prehensile abdomen. But it 
was a matter of a quarter of an ounce one way or the other whether the friction grips were 
sufficient or not. It was one of the most difficult pieces of rock climbing I had ever tackled. 
I decided to have some fun with it and taught a girl how to do it. I then offered a hundred francs to 
any guide who could get up. We got together a little party one afternoon and I proceeded to show 
off. Several other people tried, but without success. I began to mock them and said, "But this is 
absurd --- you fellows can't climb at all --- it's quite easy --- why, I'd back a girl to do it --- won't you 
have a try, Miss So-and-so?" My pupil played up beautifully and pretended to need a lot of 
persuasion. Ultimately, she offered to try if she were held on a rope from above. I said, "Nonsense, 
you can do it perfectly well by yourself!" The company protested that she would kill herself; and she 
pretended to be put on her mettle, refused all help and swarmed up in great style. 
This made everybody very much ashamed. Even the guides were stung into trying it. But nobody else 
got up. So I started to coach them on the rope. Several succeeded with the moral support and 
without being hauled. A fair number, however, came off and looked rather ridiculous, dangling. 
People began the urge the chaplain to try his hand. He didn't like it at all; but he came to me and 
said he would go if I would be very careful to manage the rope so that he did not look ridiculous, 
because of the respect due to his cloth. I promised him that I would attend to the matter with the 
utmost conscientiousness. I admitted that I had purposely made fun of some of the others, but that 
in his case I would tie the rope properly; not under his arms but just above the hips. 
Having thus arranged for the respect due to his cloth, I went to the top of the rock and sat 
sufficiently far back to be unable to see what was happening on the face. When he came off, as the 
rope was fastened so low, he turned upside down. I pretended to misunderstand and jerked him up 
and down for several minutes before finally hauling him up, purple in the face and covered 
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with scratches. I had not failed in the respect due to his cloth. But quite a number of people were 
sufficiently lacking in taste to laugh at him.