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So they resolved to sleep a little, and wished each other good night. Tonio Kröger stretched himself out on the narrow bunk in his cabin, but he found no rest. The strong wind and its pungent aroma had agitated him strangely, and his heart was restless as if in anxious expectation of something sweet.
Then he put his school-bag under his arm and ran off through the front yard. Before he disappeared into the house he turned once more and nodded. And Tonio Kröger went away quite transfigured and on wings. The wind was at his back, but that was not the only reason why he moved away so lightly.
Remember me to father and mother, my fine boy ..." That was Hans Hansen, and ever since Tonio Kröger first knew him he felt a longing as often as he beheld him, an envious longing that dwelt above his breast and burned there. "Oh, if one had such blue eyes," he thought, "and lived such an orderly life and in such happy communion with the whole world as you do!
They still looked at each other just as if they were about to sneeze; but they seemed to have grown much smaller since that day. Tonio Kröger passed between them. As he came on foot, he was received without much ceremony.
"You come from Munich?" asked the policeman at last with a good-natured and ponderous voice. Tonio Kröger assented. "You are traveling to Copenhagen?" "Yes, I am on the way to a Danish seashore resort." "Seashore? Well, you must show your papers," said the policeman, uttering the last word with particular satisfaction. "Papers ..." He had no papers.
Yes, there was something uncommon about him in every respect, whether he would or no, and he was alone and excluded from regular and ordinary folks, although he was no gipsy in a green wagon, but a son of Consul Kröger, of the Kröger family ... But why did Hans call him Tonio so long as they were alone, if he began to be ashamed of him when a third person came up?
They could be heard climbing into the wagons outside amid jest and laughter, and one conveyance after the other crunchingly got under way and rolled off along the high road ... "So they are coming back?" asked Tonio Kröger. "That they are," said the fish-dealer. "And God help us. They have ordered music, you must know, and I sleep right over the hall."
Then he went up to his room and sat down at the table, sat quietly erect, resting his cheek on his hand and looking at the table with unseeing eyes. Later on he paid his bill and got his effects ready. At the designated time the carriage was announced, and Tonio Kröger went down-stairs in readiness to go. Below, at the foot of the stairs, the elegant gentleman in black was waiting for him.
William S. Kroger, a pioneer in hypnosis, undertook to improve the batting of a professional baseball player with equally sensational results. The player had been "beaned," and his fear of a recurrence was so strong that he became "plate shy." He had changed his batting stance so that he always had "one foot in the bucket" so that he could back away from the plate more quickly.
That was when his heart lived; there was longing in it and melancholy envy and a tiny bit of contempt, and an unalloyed chaste blissfulness. Fair-haired Inga, Ingeborg Holm, daughter of Doctor Holm who lived on the market-place where the Gothic fountain stood, lofty, many-pointed, and of varied form, she it was whom Tonio Kröger loved at sixteen. How did that happen?
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