Chasing the Sun | Page 9

mixed up with it. You may rely on it, Sam, that when a Norwegian offers you anything and says `ver so goot,' he means you well, and hopes that you will make yourself comfortable."
"You don't say so, Fred; I'll adopt the phrase from this hour!"
Accordingly Sam Sorrel did adopt it, and used it on all and every occasion, without any regard to its appropriateness.
Little was said at supper. The whole party were too tired to converse.
"Now for bed," cried Sam, rising. "I say, Fred, what's the Norse for a bed?"
"Seng," replied Fred.
"Seng! what a remarkable name! Now, then, my good girl, ver so goot will you show me my seng? Good night, comrades, I'm off to--ha! ha! what a musical idea--to seng."
"More probably to snore," observed Grant.
"Oh, Grant," said Sam, looking back and shaking his head, "give up jesting. It's bad for your health; fie for shame! good night."
Norwegian beds are wooden boxes of about three feet wide, and five and a half long. I have never been able to discover why it is that Norwegians love to make their beds as uncomfortable as possible. Yet so it is.
Grant had a room to himself. Temple and our artist were shown into a double-bedded room.
"Is that a bed?" said Sam, pointing to a red-painted wooden box in a corner; "why, it's too short even for me, and you know I'm not a giant."
"Oh! then what must it be for me?" groaned Fred Temple.
On close examination it was found that each bed was too short for any man above five feet two, and, further, that there was a feather-bed below and a feather-bed above, instead of blankets. Thus they lay that night between two feather-beds, which made them so hot that it was impossible to sleep at first. Sorrel, being short, managed to lie diagonally across his box, but Fred, being long, was compelled to double himself up like a foot-rule. However, fatigue at last caused them to slumber in spite of all difficulties. In the morning they were visited by a ghost!
CHAPTER FOUR.
A GHOST AND A CUSTOM--A FISH-MARKET AND A NORSE LOVER.
There was no night in Bergen at this time. At the midnight hour there was light enough to see to read the smallest print, and at an early hour in the morning this sweet twilight brightened into dawn.
This being the case, Fred Temple was not a little surprised to see a ghost make its appearance about six o'clock--for ghosts are famous for their hatred of broad daylight. Nevertheless there it was, in the form of a woman. What else could it be but a ghost? for no woman would dare to enter his bedroom (so he thought) without knocking at the door.
The ghost had in her hand a tray with a cup of coffee on it. Fred watched her motions with intense curiosity, and kept perfectly still, pretending to be asleep. She went straight to the box in which Sam Sorrel slept, and going down on her knees, looked earnestly into his face. As our artist's mouth happened to be wide-open, it may be said that she looked down his throat. Presently she spoke to him in a soft whisper--"Will de have caffe?" (Will you have coffee?) A loud snore was the reply. Again she spoke, somewhat louder: "Vill de have caffe?"
A snort was the reply.
Once more, in a tone which would not be denied:
"Vill de have caffe?"
"Eh! hallo! what! dear me! yes--ah--thank you--ver so goot," replied Sam, as he awoke and gazed in wild surprise at the ghost who was none other than the female domestic servant of the house, who had brought the visitors a cup of coffee before breakfast.
Sam's exclamations were wild at first, and he stared like a maniac, but as consciousness returned he understood his position, and being naturally a modest man, he hastily drew on his nightcap and gathered the bedding round his shoulders. Accepting the coffee, he drank it, and the girl crossed the room to pay similar attentions to Fred Temple.
This presentation of a cup of coffee in bed before breakfast is a custom in Norway, and a very pleasant custom it is, too, especially when it breaks upon you unexpectedly for the first time.
"Now for the fish-market, Sam," cried Fred, leaping out of bed when the girl had left the room.
"Who cares for the fish-market?" said Sam testily, as he turned round in his bed, and prepared to slumber.
"I care for it," retorted Fred, "and so do you, old boy, only you are lazy this morning. Come, get up. I have resolved to spend only one day in this queer old city, so you must not let drowsiness rob you of your opportunities of seeing it. The fish-market, you know, is famous. Come, get up."
Temple enforced his advice by seizing his