I would make that waiter
understand my Scandinavian, if I had to hammer it into his head with
his own coffee-pot!
I seized him by the arm, and, in Scandinavian that must have been
quite pathetic in its tragic fervour, I asked him if he had seen my
friend - my friend B.
The man only stared.
I grew desperate. I shook him. I said:
"My friend - big, great, tall, large - is he where? Have you him to
see where? Here?"
(I had to put it that way because Scandinavian grammar is not a
strong point with me, and my knowledge of the verbs is as yet
limited to the present tense of the infinitive mood. Besides, this
was no time to worry about grace of style.)
A crowd gathered round us, attracted by the man's terrified
expression. I appealed to them generally. I said:
"My friend B. - head, red - boots, yellow, brown, gold - coat, little
squares - nose, much, large! Is he where? Him to see - anybody -
where?"
Not a soul moved a hand to help me. There they stood and gaped!
I repeated it all over again louder, in case anybody on the
outskirts of the mob had not heard it; and I repeated it in an
entirely new accent. I gave them every chance I could.
They chatted excitedly among themselves, and, then a bright idea
seemed to strike one of them, a little more intelligent-looking than
the rest, and he rushed outside and began running up and down,
calling out something very loudly, in which the word "Norwegian"
kept on occurring.
He returned in a few seconds, evidently exceedingly pleased with
himself, accompanied by a kindly-looking old gentleman in a white
hat.
Way was made in the crowd, and the old gentleman pressed forward.
When he got near, he smiled at me, and then proceeded to address to
me a lengthy, but no doubt kindly meant, speech in Scandinavian.
Of course, it was all utterly unintelligible to me from beginning to
end, and my face clearly showed this. I can grasp a word or two of
Scandinavian here and there, if pronounced slowly and distinctly;
but that is all.
The old gentleman regarded me with great surprise. He said (in
Scandinavian, of course):
"You speak Norwegian?"
I replied, in the same tongue:
"A little, a very little - VERY."
He seemed not only disappointed, but indignant. He explained the
matter to the crowd, and they all seemed indignant.
WHY everybody should be indignant with me I could not comprehend.
There are plenty of people who do not understand Scandinavian. It
was absurd to be vexed with me because I did not. I do know a
little, and that is more than some people do.
I inquired of the old gentleman about B. He did understand me. I
must give him credit for that. But beyond understanding me, he was
of no more use than the others; and why they had taken so much
trouble to fetch him, I could not imagine.
What would have happened if the difficulty had continued much longer
(for I was getting thoroughly wild with the lot of them) I cannot
say. Fortunately, at this moment I caught sight of B. himself, who
had just entered the room.
I could not have greeted him more heartily if I had wanted to borrow
money of him.
"Well, I AM glad to see you again!" I cried. "Well, this IS
pleasant! I thought I had lost you!"
"Why, you are English!" cried out the old gentleman in the white
hat, in very good Saxon, on hearing me speak to B.
"Well, I know that," I replied, "and I'm proud of it. Have you any
objection to my being English?"
"Not in the least," he answered, "if you'd only talk English instead
of Norwegian. I'm English myself;" and he walked away, evidently
much puzzled.
B. said to me as we sat down:
"I'll tell you what's the matter with you, J. - you know too many
languages for this continent. Your linguistic powers will be the
ruin of us if you don't hold them in a bit. You don't know any
Sanscrit or Chaldean, do you?"
I replied that I did not.
"Any Hebrew or Chinese?"
"Not a word."
"Sure?"
"Not so much as a full stop in any of them."
"That's a blessing," said B., much relieved. "You would be trying
to palm off one or other of them on some simple-minded peasant for
German, if you did!"
It is a wearisome journey, through the long, hot hours of the
morning, to Cologne. The carriage is stifling. Railway travellers,
I have always noticed, regard fresh air as poison. They like to
live on the refuse of each other's breath, and close up every window
and ventilator tight. The sun pours down through glass and blind
and scorches our limbs. Our heads and our bodies ache. The dust
and soot drift in and settle on our clothes, and grime our hands and
face. We all doze and wake up with a start, and fall to sleep again
upon each other. I wake, and find my neighbour with his head upon
my shoulder. It seems a shame to cast him off; he looks so
trustful. But he is heavy. I push him on to the man the other
side. He is just as happy there. We roll about; and when the train
jerks, we butt each other with our heads. Things fall from the rack
upon us. We look up surprised, and go to sleep again. My bag
tumbles down upon the head of the unjust man in the corner. (Is it
retribution?) He starts up, begs my pardon, and sinks back into
oblivion. I am too sleepy to pick up the bag. It lies there on the
floor. The unjust man uses it for a footstool.
