until the hinges fairly screeched. But hereupon he took his leave.
"Well, now I must go in," he said. Good-by, Tonio. Next time I'll go home with you, be sure of that."
"Good-by, Hans," said Tonio, "it was nice to go walking."
The hands they clasped were quite wet and rusty from the garden gate. But when Hans looked into Tonio's eyes, something like penitent reflection came into his handsome face.
"And by the way, I'm going to read Don Carlos pretty soon," he said quickly. "That about the king in his cabinet must be fine." Then he put his school-bag under his arm and ran off through the front yard. Before he dis appeared into the house he turned once more and nodded.
And Tonio Kroger 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.
Hans would read Don Carlos, and then they would have something in common, about which neither Immerthal nor any one else could talk with them. How well they understood each other. Who could tell—perhaps he might even bring him to the point of writing verses too … No, no, he did not want to do that. Hans must not become like Tonio, but remain as he was, so bright and strong, just as everybody loved him, and Tonio most of all. But to read Don Carlos wouldn't hurt him, just the same … And Tonio went through the old, square-built gate, along the harbor, and up the steep, draughty, and wet Gable Street to the house of his parents. 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 Kroger loved at sixteen.
