The Making of an American | Page 9

was an example of it; for I had never seen the man
before. At which he laughed outright, and, pointing to a door, said I
would find my brother in there, and bade me good-by. He was gone
before I could shake hands with him; but just then my brother came up,
and I forgot about him in my admiration of the pictures.
We were resting in one of the rooms an hour later, and I was going over
the events of the day, telling all about the kind stranger, when in he
came, and nodded, smiling at me.
"There he is," I cried, and nodded too. To my surprise, Sophus got up
with a start and salaamed in haste.
"Good gracious!" he said, when the stranger was gone. "You don't
mean to say he was your guide? Why, that was the King, boy!"
I was never so astonished in my life and expect never to be again. I had
only known kings from Hans Christian Andersen's story books, where
they always went in coronation robes, with long train and pages, and
with gold crowns on their heads. That a king could go around in a blue
overcoat, like any other man, was a real shock to me that I didn't get
over for a while. But when I got to know more of King Christian, I
liked him all the better for it. You couldn't help that anyhow. His
people call him "the good king" with cause. He is that.
Speaking of Hans Christian Andersen, we boys loved him as a matter
of course; for had he not told us all the beautiful stories that made the
whole background of our lives? They do that yet with me, more than
you would think. The little Christmas tree and the hare that made it
weep by jumping over it because it was so small, belong to the things
that come to stay with you always. I hear of people nowadays who
think it is not proper to tell children fairy-stories. I am sorry for those
children. I wonder what they will give them instead. Algebra, perhaps.
Nice lot of counting machines we shall have running the century that is
to come! But though we loved Andersen, we were not above playing
our pranks upon him when occasion offered. In those days Copenhagen
was girt about with great earthen walls, and there were beautiful walks
up there under the old lindens. On moonlight nights when the smell of

violets was in the air, we would sometimes meet the poet there,
walking alone. Then we would string out irreverently in Indian file and
walk up, cap in hand, one after another, to salute him with a deeply
respectful "Good evening, Herr Professor!" That was his title. His kind
face would beam with delight, and our proffered fists would be buried
in the very biggest hand, it seemed to us, that mortal ever
owned,--Andersen had very large hands and feet,--and we would go
away gleefully chuckling and withal secretly ashamed of ourselves. He
was in such evident delight at our homage.
They used to tell a story of Andersen at the time that made the whole
town laugh in its sleeve, though there was not a bit of malice in it. No
one had anything but the sincerest affection for the poet in my day; his
storm and stress period was then long past. He was, it was said, greatly
afraid of being buried alive. So that it might not happen, he carefully
pinned a paper to his blanket every night before he went to sleep, on
which was written: "I guess I am only in a trance." [Footnote: In
Danish: "Jeg er vist skindod."] Needless to say, he was in no danger.
When he fell into his long sleep, the whole country, for that matter the
whole world, stood weeping at his bier.
Four years I dreamt away in Copenhagen while I learned my trade. The
intervals when I was awake were when she came to the town on a visit
with her father, or, later, to finish her education at a fashionable school.
I mind the first time she came. I was at the depot, and I rode with her
on the back of their coach, unknown to them. So I found out what hotel
they were to stay at. I called the next day, and purposely forgot my
gloves. Heaven knows where I got them from I probably borrowed
them. Those were not days for gloves. Her father sent them to my
address the next day with a broad hint that, having been neighborly, I
needn't call again. He was getting square for the ball. But my wife says
that I was never good at taking a hint, except in the